House of Shame
by lexieconextreme
Summary: After the Joker rescues Harley from Belle Reve, life goes on as it always had before. But this time, something's different. Harley's grown a conscience, and to the say the Joker isn't happy would be an understatement. Bruce and Ivy do all they can do pull Harley back. But will it be enough? (Sequel to You Love Me 'Cause I Hate You)
1. With a sideorder of oh, I'm fucked

**A/N: It's finally here! I'm sorry the sequel took so long to write, I really didn't mean it to. I wasn't even planning on writing a sequel until people in the reviews suggested that I do, so here it is.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad or any of the characters within.**

 **~Set right after the end of Suicide Squad~**

* * *

We're on our way home! I think happily. I knew puddin' was going to come for me! I was just wonderin' when!

Me and Mista J race down the highway away from Belle Reve, laughin' madly. I feel a small twinge of pity for the goons sittin' in the back of the stolen SWAT van, but it quickly disappears. They should be happy to help their Queen get out of prison! Especially now that I've officially helped save the world!

My puddin' swerves the van onto the next street, and I laugh and grin. Oh, how I've missed this! Seeing my laughter, Mista J grins and starts drivin' a little faster. I whoop, and he speeds up yet again. We have to be goin' 120 by now!

We dodge in between cars that seem to be going backward, and hit more than a few people on the way. My gigantic smile falls slightly at that. If saving the world with a bunch of other bad guys has taught me anythin', it's that life is precious. I almost died here, folks. Even if it's not my own, you shouldn't kill random people for nothin'. A fact Mista J seems to have trouble understandin'.

Soon enough though, I forget all about anything to do with the horrible-ness of killing people. Mista J is driving so fast, I start to think maybe he's aware of my train of thought and is trying to disencourage it.

Once more, the thrill of the speed and the cops chasing after us distracts me. My puddin' laughs wildly as we race through a crowd of kids crossing the street, and I clap my hand to my mouth, no doubt looking as horrified as I felt.

"Puddin'!" I cry, terrified. He glances at me, no doubt wondering why I suddenly minded murdering a bunch of people at once in a car chase. Well? Why do I suddenly care? My brain races to come up with a feasible excuse, and I can feel the air in the car growing rapidly colder, uncomfortable.

"T-the Bat!" I stutter, not havin' the nerve to look directly at him. He seems to relax slightly at that, looking satisfied that my fear was legitimate. His manic grin comes back. "Don't worry, Harles! The Batman and I have come to a little, how shall we say? Stalemate? Treaty? I know it's something along those lines, I just can't remember the word! But don't worry, darlin'! We don't have anything to worry about!" Despite his words, I don't relax. On the inside, anyway. I tell my muscles to relax, my body language hopefully tellin' Mista J that I'm no longer worried.

I force a half smile that I'm sure looks more like a grimace onto my face. "Alright, puddin'! Whatever you say!" I can feel these emotions inside me, though. What are they? Why do I feel guilty for some random people's deaths?

When did I start to care?

* * *

It's been weeks since Mista J rescued me from Belle Reve, and we've continued terrorizing Gotham like I was never captured by the Batman. Once again, I stand as the Queen of Death, the Queen of Gotham, the Joker's Queen and all that, blah blah blah. I find myself sinking further and further out of Mista J's world. Mista J's world included, of course, all of the major criminals in the city, like Two-Face, the Penguin, Clayface, Scarecrow, the Riddler, and my bff Poison Ivy all paying homage to the Clown Prince of Crime.

But there was more. It's come to be, over the past few years, that no crime was committed without my puddin' being behind it. Even if it was something as simple as a bank robbery, it was Mista J collecting funding. What funding he didn't get from the other villains in the city, of course. I knew for a fact that he was bankrupting poor Ivy. She barely had enough money to buy herself some all-natural ramen noodles, let alone pull off her big projects to save the plants of the city. And me. Because she likes me. I'm pretty sure.

No, I'm sure Ivy likes me. I can't afford to doubt my best friend right now. I have no idea what's going on with me and Mista J, but I have to be able to trust her if something happens.

My attention is called by Mista J when he waves at me to come over to where he stands with a potential client. This night is beginning to remind me of the one where I was kidnapped by the Batman. I shudder as I make my way down the stairs from the stage and to the table where my puddin' stands. That night was not at all pleasant, from what I remember.

For some reason, whenever I try to think of it, it floats away. It's weird, and I'm definitely a little worried by it. Why would I have lost my memory? Why would I have lost memories of one of the biggest nights of my life, a night I should be quite capable of remembering?

I shake my head, coming out of my thoughts as I approach Mista J. I run my hand up his arm and wind myself around him as he instructed me to do when talking to clients. I paint a smile on my face, staring at the man sitting in the booth. He looks around him in interest, and I can see some awe mixed in as well.

"This place is quite popular, Joker. I'm impressed."

I turn my head to watch Mista J as he speaks to the man, and I'm suddenly reminded of of how beautiful he is, and I start to feel myself fall for him all over again. He's good to me, as wicked as he is to others.

Mista J smiles, and I suppose it looks nice enough to strangers, but I can see the malice underneath. My puddin' doesn't look for other people's approval, and he certainly doesn't feel like he needs people to be impressed with him. Mista J hates when people give him vindication when he clearly doesn't want or need it.

"I thank you for your sentiment, Mr Graves. But I do need an answer soon. Will you have your men work for me? We need to move the product tomorrow night if we don't want the Bat getting to it first."

Graves looked to be thinking for a moment before he stands. He walks forward, holding out his hand. It's only because I'm looking right at Mista J, because I'm right next to him and can see through all the flashing lights, that I see the revulsion that flew across my puddin's face before he hides it with a rather insane(even to my standards) smile.

Mista J holds out his hand as well and shakes the other man's hand vigorously. He grins broadly. "Welcome to the team, Mr Graves!"

Graves smiles, albeit a little nervously. He is shaking hands with the King of Gotham, after all. Mista J turns to look at me, a sly look sliding onto his features. "Harley? Would mind keeping Mr Graves company for a little while?"

I pull my arm from around my puddin's neck and walk over to Graves. I'm a little upset. I don't like being with anyone other than my puddin', even if he does like to watch. I wind my body around him, leaning over a pressing a kiss to his cheek, really very close to his mouth.

I see the proud smile flit across my puddin's face, but it quickly turns into a scowl. I'm so sure that I've done something horribly wrong for a moment, that I don't notice that Graves is leaning away from me until I see Mista J glaring at him and not me. I pull away, and I see the relief on his face. There is some serious deja vu hitting me right now, but I'm too wrapped up in Graves's reaction to care right now.

I wonder if I should feel hurt right now, like I did the last time someone had the nerve to pull away from me. But I don't. I actually feel relief, enough of it to match Graves's expression. He really did not want me, and I realize that I'm okay with that.

But Mista J isn't. He is completely not okay with this. I walk over back towards puddin, and he puts his arm around me, probably figuring that I feel hurt right now. I don't, but I'm not going to let him know that. I'm not sure what would happen then.

But I do know what's going to happen to Graves. Like the last person who "disrespected" me, he's going to die.

Mista J looks at Graves threateningly, and I watch his hand go into his pocket for his gun. I held my breath, waiting. I was sure my puddin' was about to kill the man.

Mista J raised the gun, and I hid the squeak of terror that would reveal my position on this subject. If Mista J found out that I wasn't too sure about the killin' anymore...well, in his view, I should probably be committed. Again. By Mista J. Hypocrite.

But as Mr put the gun to Mr Graves's head, I came to a decision. No matter what might happen to me, I was not just going to let this man die.

I stepped in front of the gun, speaking as sweetly as I possibly could. "It's okay, puddin'. If he doesn't want me, it's his loss. I had something special planned for us tonight anyway, and I know I'm definitely not going to be using it on him." Mista J looks at me, unsure of why I'm acting the way I am. I continue, hoping to get him to put the gun down.

"Anyway, if you kill him now, who're we going to get to move the shipment tomorrow night? We're cutting it close enough as it is, only getting the men we need tonight and not last week or even before that. But if we kill him now, we won't have the support we need and the Bat and Gordon will likely get the product. We don't want that, now do we?"

I wrap my figure around his, trying to get him calmed down enough to see reason. Slowly, ever so slowly, he puts the gun in the waistband of his pants, and I relax. I'm sure Graves is having the same reaction, and I hope for his sake he's not letting it show on his face.

What I'm not prepared for, however, is the painful slap he delivers to my cheek. Startled, I fall to the ground. I look up to see Mista J stalking toward Graves.

"I'll let you go," he snarls in Graves ear, completely disregarding the thing people like to call "personal space". "But only because I need your manpower tomorrow night. If the job is done right, then I'll consider letting you live past that point. If not, well...Your name is rather ironic, don't you think?"

Graves nods, terrified. Mista J throws out his hand violently, gesturing toward the door. "I'll talk to you tomorrow night, then. Don't let me see you before then."

Graves runs out the door, past the guards, and Mista J stalks up to the stage. He looks terrifying as he does so, and because of that look, I decide stayin' on the floor is probably my best option right now.

"EVERYONE OUT!" He practically screams into the microphone, and everyone who was having a good time a moment before, whether it was from getting lucky, or getting high, or getting drunk, jumps violently. I hear several quiet curses as a few people spill their drinks, and I wonder if they seriously think drinks are a priority when my puddin' was screaming at that them to get out of the casino, when he looks as scary as he does.

Every single person in the casino stares up at the Joker they've all heard so much about in shock and fear. He looks spitting mad, and I wonder why they all don't just run screaming out into the street in terror.

Mista J is breathing' heavily, and his eyes are murderous. Again, he yells and this time he doesn't bother using the microphone. "EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BUILDING, OR I'M GOING TO HAVE FUN EXECUTING YOU ALL!"

That's what gets everyone up and moving. In five minutes, the room is cleared out, and the bouncers have cleared out the passed-out-drunks and dumped them into the street.

Mista J walks back down the stage steps and toward the little partitioned room where I'm still sitting on the floor.

He looks almost calm, and I know I'm in for something. He never looks that calm unless he's super pissed, and I wonder what he's going to do to me.

Mista J kneels down right next to me, taking my chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger.

His eyes narrow, and I can see the insane glitter in them. "I don't know what's up with you, Harles. But we're going to fix it, baby. We're going to fix together, you and me."

(If you don't like abuse-type stuff, beware. That's basically what this whole next section is. I'll put another note in when it's finished.)

My eyes widen in fear, and he drags me to my feet. He pulls me up the stairs, and I plead. Pleading for what, I'm not sure. "Please, puddin'," I gasp. "Please, don't do this!" Whatever he had planned, I know it most certainly has to do with a beating. This is why I try not to get on his nerves, folks. This is what happens when I try to be human around him. This.

Mista J kicks the bedroom door down and throws me into the room. I roll over, and my back slams into the side of the bed. Well, that's going to hurt in the morning. And, you know, now. I try to sit up, ignoring the pain in my back to see when he's coming. I don't expect the sudden hit to my head. I don't realize until later that Mista J kicked me. I sit up again, my vision blurry and my head pounding. I realize that that's just begging him to hit me again, and he does.

He's laughing now, I can hear it. Before, there hadn't been any noise, and I might've believed he didn't want to do this. But apparently, he decided to let loose. How could he take so much pleasure in hurting me? How could he take such pleasure in hurting his girlfriend? The one he's supposed to love?

The beating continues.

After he hits me this time, he takes hold of my hair, gripping it hard near the roots at the top of my head, where it hurts most. He lifts my head, slamming it back down onto the floor, and I'm reminded painfully that there is no carpet.

Still gripping my hair, he drags me to my feet. He yanks, throwing my body onto the bed. I know what's coming next, and I can't find it in myself to fight him.

At this point, I'm having a hard time remembering something as simple as what I had for breakfast this morning. Everything is fuzzy. My vision, my thoughts, my memory. Everything. But I still know what's happening, and I really wish I didn't. I really don't want to know what's happening right now. I just wish my body, my brain will finally be like "Nope! You've had enough, you can pass out now!" But no. I have to remain conscious, as painful as everything is right now.

He pulls his body onto my hips, and I stiffen. I can't let this happen. I can't. I just can't. I twist my body, trying to get him off.

God, I can't even bare to think of his name right now.

I just want him off, I want him to leave me alone.

I twist violently, trying to get him to fall off me, off the bed entirely. It works, for a moment. But I'm stunned, my body is stiff and it hurts to even think of moving. Soon enough, he's back on top of me, and he turns me onto my stomach. I try to buck him off, but it doesn't work, he's holding on too tightly. He snarls something in my ear, but the adrenaline and the fear pumping inside my veins drowns him out.

I have an idea of what he said when he twists my left arm painfully behind my back. He twists again, and I feel the bone snap.

I never considered how strong he is. Strong enough to snap a bone with a sharp wrists movement? I would think so, because that's what I'm pretty sure just happened.

I hear the snap before I feel it, and when I do feel it, it hits me like a wave. It feels like I'm drowning in the amount of pain I'm in right now. I vaguely remember breaking my arm when I was a kid, though my sister was there to hold me until my parent's could get me to a hospital.

But my sister isn't here, and my parents are dead. I can't even remember my sister's name, now. I grew up without that other little blonde girl, I never got to know her. What was she like? Does she still live in Gotham, or Metropolis? I wonder if she lives in Star City now. I hear that place is as crazy with vigilantes as Gotham is.

I'm brought back to the present by the Joker's laughing. I surprise myself by thinking his name. Not one of the ones I gave him, the one he came up with. Or was it the police? I can never remember who gave him his name anymore. Maybe it was the media. Who knows? All I know is, for the first time in a very long time, he isn't Mista J. He isn't my puddin'.

He is the Joker. That's all he's ever been, and that's all he ever should have been to me.

I feel him turn me back onto my back, and his weight reappears on my hips. He tears down the barely-there short-shorts I wear, and I flinch. I hadn't thought he'd go this far, but clearly I'm wrong. I've been hoping that he'd wear out his anger by beating on me, that's all that had happened before. But not this time. This time, he's too angry.

Angry enough to rape me?

I shudder, hoping that my body will let me pass out before I have to go through any of this.

He feels the shudder, and slaps me again, hard. I think he thinks it's me resisting again, although that was definitely not it.

He shifts his weight, pulling his pants down, and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting.

He hits me again. "Open your eyes, bitch. Keep them open."

So I do, because I'm scared that this is never going to stop. Maybe if I do what he says, he'll stop.

He keeps going, and I scream in pain. Things that should never happen to a woman in the places you don't want them to happen are happening to me, and I can't make it stop. I can't make him stop. He won't ever stop.

I scream, and he hits me again. This time it was enough. Everything went fuzzy, then black.

* * *

 **A/N: Alright, I decided to split this into a bunch of chapters, because by the time I'm done with this it's going to be the length of a Harry Potter book. I'll try and get the next part done soon.**

 **BYE FOR NOW ;3**


	2. Anyone, anyone, Bueller? Wait, HARLEEN?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad or most of the characters within.**

* * *

I know I was asleep for a long time. That's what it felt like, anyway. The sleep was mostly dreamless, although there were a few flashes of sound, a feeling of movement. I'm not sure whether those were dreams or reality.

Slowly, I feel myself coming back. As I become more aware, and I listen for any sound, any indication that the Joker is still close by. I hear nothing.

I struggle to open my eyes, and when they do open, bright light floods in. I wonder what time it is. My left arm feels heavy, and for the life of me I can't figure out why. I glance down out of the corner of my eye and see the clunky white cast. I remember now. The Joker broke my arm. I throbs as if in memory of that night, and I pull my mind away and try to focus on other things.

The walls are a dark, pretty forest green. The bed I'm lying on is noticeably softer than the one I...fell asleep on. I hear footsteps outside the door, and I close my eyes again, evening and deepening my breathing, hoping to pass for 'still asleep'.

The door opens, and I hear soft voices. It closes, and footsteps pad over to the bed. Now I know I'm not in the same place. The Joker's casino has no carpets anywhere in the building. Once again, I'm surprised to find myself referring to him as the Joker, and not puddin' or Mista J, or anything else I may have called him.

The person in the room pauses by my side, and I feel soft, cool fingers over my neck, then my wrist. The person walks to the other side of the bed, then gets in.

I stiffen, waiting for whatever comes next. The person speaks, pleading with me. "Please wake up, Harley, please. Please don't be like this forever."

I know this voice, and am instantly relieved. I open my eyes, turning as gently as I can onto my side. "I'm awake, Ivy."

She jumps, then hugs me tightly. I moan, and she releases me instantly. "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I?"

I sit up, careful not hurt myself. "No, you just hugged a few bruises." I lift up my shirt, revealing the dark, blue-purple splotches on my skin. I wince just looking at them. These are going to be very painful.

Ivy's fingers hover over the bruises worriedly. "I was wondering why you didn't call me, I got worried something bad had happened. I snuck into the casino, looking all over the place. I found your room, and..." Ivy trails off, looking haunted by the memory. "God, you looked so horrible, laying there, half your clothes torn off. Your face was swollen beyond belief, and the doctor I brought in said you had a pretty nasty concussion."

I struggle to take in all she's saying. "What do you mean "had"? Wouldn't I still have one now?"

Ivy bites her bottom lip like she does when she's really worried about something.

"Ivy..." I say, waiting.

She looks up at me. "Harley, you've been asleep for three weeks. The doctor said you had a very small chance of waking up after what you endured, how badly injured you were."

Her statement has me reeling. Three weeks. How can I have asleep for three weeks?

"What about the Joker," I whisper. I look back up at her. "What happened to the Joker?"

Ivy looks at me sadly. "I don't know, hon. He disappeared after what he did to you." She stopped, then narrowed her eyes. "You weren't thinking of going back to him, were you? Harley you can't seriously be thinking of going back to him! Not after what he did to you!" Her voice went higher and higher in panic, the idea of me going back seeming to terrify her.

I soothe her quickly. "No, no Ivy. I'm not going back. Not after what he did."

She relaxes, sinking back onto the pillows. Then she looked over at me. "Good. Then you won't mind that I told Batman all about what happened, and sent him after the Joker."

I take in Ivy's confession in shock. She sent the Bat after Mista J?

 _No_ , I tell myself. _No, you can't go back to that. If you go back, there will only be more stuff just like this._

Coming out of my headspace, I shake my head. "No," I say. "It's probably for the best that you did that."

Ivy relaxes. "Good," she says, standing up from the bed, walking to the door and opening it. "Whenever you're ready, I've got food waiting downstairs."

As she opens the door, the smell of pancakes and cooking bacon wafts in, and I realize how hungry I am. Three weeks? Three weeks without food, and I didn't notice how absolutely ravenous I am? I must be losing my touch.

I sit up carefully, trying not to disturb any of the bruises. I place my feet on the floor and Ivy watches anxiously, ready to catch me should I fall. I put my hand on the bed upholstery, using it to pull myself to my feet. As soon as I do, the most colossal headache hits me, and I almost fall back onto the bed.

I try to remain standing before letting the pain take hold and collapsing back onto the bed, gasping, trying not to start crying from the amount of pain I feel.

Ivy is by my side in an instant, holding my head in her lap, shielding my eyes from the incredibly bright light coming in through the windows. I can hear her giving quiet orders to the only other humans in the world she trusts more than me, and soon the light disappears.

Ivy strokes my hair, talking to me soothingly, and the pain soon disappears. As it ebbs away, I roll onto my side, facing away from the windows. The curtains may be closed, but there are still some slivers of light coming through.

The blood stops its annoying pounding in my ears, and I hear Ivy start talking again.

"If you want, I can have them bring the food up." I almost start laughing. As it is, a small giggle escapes me.

I can almost hear Ivy smiling. "What? I know how you like to eat, and you've been asleep for three weeks. And if you were with him all day, God knows if you even ate. So it's probably been three and a half weeks since you ate anything."

I shake my head slightly, smiling. "Nah, I had breakfast." As I speak, I sit up once again, trying not to do so too fast.

Ivy glares at me, sitting back and crossing her legs. "You had breakfast. That's it? You had breakfast that day, and you didn't eat anything at all after that?"

I grin, looking away from her. Ivy whistles. "So three and a half weeks without food." She pauses, then gets up and goes to the door. "Yeah, you need to eat."

She disappears into the hall for a moment, and I can hear her speaking to the only other humans I'm likely to find within a 50-mile radius. She comes back in, leaving the door open.

I look at her. "I'm not feeling all that hungry, Ivy."

Ivy snorts. "Yeah, sure you aren't. You were starving a moment ago, and that suddenly just disappeared?"

"With the head-killer I just experienced? Yes." I wince, the idea of the pain it caused almost as bad as the real thing.

Ivy winces too. "That I can believe. Just nibble on some toast, and I'll be happy." I nod, willing to try. After I finish speaking, there's a knock at the door and two young men enter.

I'm not even sure whether the two brothers can actually be called "men", they're so young. The older one, Ed, walks in carrying a tray filled with food. It smells nice, and my stomach rumbles, but the idea of eating makes me feel nauseous. His younger brother Al comes in after him, carrying plates, cups, plastic silverware, and napkins. They both smile at me, and I smile back.

Ed is sixteen, and Al is only fifteen. They're so young, sometimes I wonder how Ivy could bring them into all of this.

But this is Gotham, or fifty miles outside of it, and being here, where they aren't in any danger, is probably better than being spies for the Penguin or human shields for the Joker. Anything is better than one of those options, and even the ones I don't want to think about.

Ed and Al leave, and Ivy shoves some toast at me. "Pushy," I mumble, taking a small bite of the crispy bread. She smiles as I slowly start taking larger bites, my stomach taking over from my mind.

"Hungry now?" She teases, and I make a face at her. I reach for another piece and continue eating. We soon finish the small platter, and I feel like doing something. I move to get up, and Ivy pushes me back down. "Don't you remember what happened the last time you tried to get up? I'll get you a coloring book or something, but you're not leaving this bed until the doctor says your concussion has gone away!" Ivy looks more than a little pissed, and the little potted plant on the bedside table is reacting to her rage.

I hold up my hands in a placating gesture, sinking back into the pillows. "Fine, fine. Coloring book and the doctor it is."

Ivy looks relieved. "I'm going to go kidnap our doctor again, and you are going to stay put. I'll have Ed or Al bring you something to do." Ivy leaves, and as soon as she does, I put my feet on the ground. I brace my hand against the bedpost as before, pulling myself to my feet. I do it even slower than the last time, trying not to trigger the calamitous headache from before. I take deep breaths, struggling to hold myself up. I hear a sharp breath behind me.

Something light hits the bed, then someone is beside me, holding my arm and keeping me steady.

"Geez, are you trying to pass out again?" Ed asks, disbelief coloring his voice.

I take a shaky breath. "Not really. I just don't want to stay in bed all day. Or for the next week."

Ed snorts. "That I understand. But what about when Ivy finds out I let you walk?"

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Who said she's going to find out?"

He sighs. "Al will tell her, little tattle-tale that he is." He pauses. "Al isn't really a tattle-tale, I suppose. He's just not very good at keeping secrets."

"So don't tell him I'm walking."

"I'm not very good at keeping secrets from him."

"So tell Ivy to be pissed at me, and I wouldn't stop trying to walk about, so you just stayed with me to make sure I didn't hurt myself."

Ed rolls his eyes, considering. "Fine. But if I end up with a plant trying to strangle me, I blame you."

"Fair enough." Ed helps me to the window, not letting go until I'm firmly seated on the sill. He then walks to the bed and tosses something into my lap.

It's a coloring book, with a package of colored pencils and crayons.

Damn you, Ivy.

Ed smirks at me, then leaves the room. I sit on the window sill for half an hour, absently coloring in the book Ivy left me. I don't realize until I've filled an entire page in that it's a Disney Princess coloring book.

Double damn you, Ivy. Disney? Really?

The first page of the book is Cinderella, dancing with her prince. I could never keep the prince's names straight, even when I was a kid. But it doesn't seem to matter now. The way I've colored it in, Cinderella has a really nice harlequin dress, with a cool red and black headband. Her prince - Philip? - is dressed in a dashing purple and green suit. There's a bat signal in the sky behind them where I guess a normal spotlight used to be located. I sigh. This used to be my past. How did this ever happen? How did I move on from being that little girl, playing the backyard with a sister whose name I can't even remember? How the hell did I move on from being Harleen Quinzel, into Gotham's most dangerous criminal's girlfriend?

 _That's a good question._

I'm startled when someone speaks, but there's no one in the room. Well, that's impossible.

"Ed? Al?" I call tentatively. But neither responds. I sigh, frustrated. Then an idea occurs to me. "Well, now I know it isn't that little pipsqueak, or his brother who was talking."

Still, there's no response. Now I definitely know it's not either one of them. Al wouldn't be able to keep hidden this long, and Ed would most definitely respond to the word "pipsqueak". So who the hell was speaking?

 _I don't know why you're freaking out. It's only me._

I jump. Who the hell is talking?

 _Instead of wondering indirectly who's talking, you could just ask who it is._

I finally realize. The voice is in my head. And here I was thinking I'd gotten past all that.

 _Alright, fine._ I think. _Who are you?_

 _Sweetheart, you've known me your entire life. I don't know why you're so shocked that I've finally made a reappearance._

I gasp. It can't be _her_. The Joker destroyed her the day I became Harley Quinn.

 _Obviously, he didn't,_ Harleen said wryly. _I'm here to help you back to sanity._

I shake my head. This can't actually be happening. "What if I don't want to be sane again?" I whisper. "What if I don't want to be you again?"

 _You don't have to be me, you just don't have to be who the Joker wants you to be._

I open my mouth, about to reply, when I hear rapid gunfire. I jump, shocked. Ivy doesn't allow guns like that here. Only for the older Winchesters, and that's just because they insist on keeping guns for Ivy's safety. I look out the window, worried.

I see big men in black ski masks come through the courtyard. They look around, pointing their guns, trying to see something move so they could shoot at it. It didn't take much to figure out that these were the type of men who liked killing. As soon as they've cleared the courtyard, one of the bigger ones, the one that seems to be in charge, gestures behind him. In walks another man, and my stomach drops.

It's him. It's the Joker. He's come looking for me.

He throws a grin over his shoulder, and another big man follows him into the courtyard, holding a struggling Poison Ivy tightly. The Joker approaches her, and slides his hand over her cheek. She stops moving, her breath coming in short gasps. Ivy's terrified.

The Joker's hand moves down her cheek and onto her throat. In one move, he's slammed her against the stone wall, holding my best friend in a choke hold. I hear him scream a question at her. "WHERE IS SHE?"

I'm on my knees, banging on the window, pleading for him to stop. I'm sobbing, because he's killing my best friend and there's nothing I can do to stop him.

He doesn't hear me.

There are more gunshots, and Ed and Al's older brothers come in shooting. Sam and Dean will stop at nothing to save, Ivy, I know that. I relax slightly, but then my door bangs open.

I spin, terrified that some of the Joker's goons have found me.

It's only Ed and Al, come to look for me. There is clearly fear in Al's eyes, but Ed has it hidden more carefully. I can see that on the inside, he's terrified. But he's not going to show it in front of his brother.

"We need to leave," he tells me, and I nod numbly. Quickly he grabs my arm, dragging me out of the room and into the hallway. Al's looking for anyone who might try to stop us, though there doesn't seem to be a soul in the building. Gently, I tug my arm away from Ed, walking forward throughout the house, heading only for the front door. I stop right behind it, watching as the Joker interrogates what is left of Ivy's staff. Sam and Dean are dead on the ground with bullets in their heads. Ed sees it right after I do and just before Al. He slaps his hand over Alphonse's eyes and drags him behind the door where he can't see the sickening sight.

It doesn't bother me, though I have the feeling that it probably should. For multiple reasons.

Another gunshot rings out and Kara's body hits the ground with a dull thump. I can hear him, Mista J. His breathing is heavy, his shouts becoming more and more hoarse. I step forward, away from the door and out onto the doorstep. He hasn't noticed me yet, though a few of his men have. Ed stares at me as if I'm an idiot. He's not wrong. I make a gesture with my hand, telling him to take Al and go. We have a staring contest, and after a moment of battle of the wills, I win. Finally, he nods. Hand still covering Al's eyes, Ed pulls his younger brother away from the door and down the hall. He glances back at me and I can just hear Al's faint whispering, asking why I'm not coming.

Ed doesn't answer. He leads his brother away. I wonder if I'm ever gonna see them again.

Crazed laughter echoes from the courtyard and my attention whips back to Mista J. Again, he's holding Ivy in a way very dangerous to her health. She has ta be too distracted ta focus, because none of her plants or pets are attacking her captor.

"Where is Harley?" He snarls, leaning in close to Ivy's face. I know what's going to happen before it does. Ivy spits in his face, lips lifting into a snarl of her own. "Like I would ever tell you, you pathetic clown. Harley is safe now."

Mista J glares at her for just a moment, expression unreadable. Then everything changes so quickly I feel as if I have whiplash. He spins away from Ivy, releasing her from his hold. Ivy collapses to the ground, coughing and spluttering, trying to regain her breath. Mista J is laughing, mad giggles issuing from his blood-red lips.

"Safe from who, Poison Ivy?" He asked, his laughter punctuating the words. "Lil' ol' me?" His angry manner returned in an instant, worsening my whiplash. His eyes were wide and angry, promising death if Ivy continued to hide his prey. I stood rooted to my spot on the doorstep, realizing that I'd taken a step back inside. Mista J probably wouldn't see me from here.

"Why exactly, Ivy, would my _dear_ Harley Quinn have anything to fear from _me?_ " He asked, his voice dead quiet. Shivers crept up my spine, and I flinched further away from the door. The rest of the courtyard is silent too. Silent enough to hear a pin drop. Or to hear the _snick_ of a penknife opening. Something shiny was suddenly pressed to my friend's throat and I struggled to control my breathing.

"Harley is my love, my princess, my Queen. She rules beside me. She has nothing to fear." Mista J's penknife traced the contours of Ivy's neck and collarbone, skimming the edges of her jaw and finding its way to her delicate, rose-colored cheek. "Unless, of course, she was trying to leave me." He pauses, the sharp blade pressed against the edge of her lip. "But why would she do that? I love her. She loves me. Unless, of course, you somehow convinced her I'm dangerous. But why would you do that, Ivy? Aren't you supposed to want what's best for your best friend?" The blade follows the underside of her lip to the corner of her mouth. To my horror, the knife slips into her mouth. Ivy's eyes are wide with terror, but there's nothing she can do.

I fall to my knees, shaking. My head aches and all I want it to do is stop. I want time and the world to just stop for a moment so I can catch up. My mind feels confused. Ivy's always told me Mista J was bad for me, bad for everyone. I never really listened. I was too caught up in my emotions, focusing on how he made me feel.

Mista J makes me feel...good. There are those nights, the ones that made sure I was sporting bruises in the morning. Like the one that had sent me here. But Mista J has a temper is all, right? He really does love me, he just...can't find the right punchin' bag.

 _But do you really want to be somebody's punching bag?_ Harleen interjects, and I grit my teeth. She's not helping my headache. _He's the Joker. You know he doesn't care for you, he doesn't love you!_

"Yes, he does," I whisper, forcing air out between my teeth. "He does love me, I know he does. He's jus' not very good at showin' it."

 _Does someone who loves you rape you?_

That wasn't Harleen. That was my own thought, an' I hated myself for thinkin' it. "My puddin' loves me, my puddin' loves me, my puddin' loves me," I whisper to myself, rocking in my seat. "He loves me, I know he does."

It is my mantra.

Slowly, the rockin' stops. My mind is pulled back to reality again. I make my decision and pull myself to my feet. I stumble to the door, leaning heavily on the wooden frame for balance and look out. Ivy's on the ground and Mista J is kneeling beside her. I can see blood on the ground, though at this point I can't be sure who it's from.

I totter outside without another thought. "Puddin'!" I call out happily, holding out my arms towards him.

He looks up, acid-green eyes focused on me, utterly devoid of any expression. I pause in my mini journey, staring at him worriedly. "Is everythin' okay, puddin'?" I ask.

Slowly, a grin slides across his face. He holds out his arms and I rush into them, relishing in the warmth. "It is now, Harles," he whispers near my ear.

Stepping away, he wraps his arm around my waist. "Whaddya say we go home, hmm?"

I smile at the thought. "Okay!"

Walking out of the courtyard, I don't see Ivy's head lift from it's place on the ground, hair soaked in her own crimson blood.

 **Poison Ivy's POV - WARNING: It gets a bit graphic here, so read at your own risk.**

"Whaddya think, sweetheart?" The Joker growled close to my ear. "Shall we put a smile on that face?"

The knife was placed inside my lips, and I watch as Harley backs away from the door in fear. I'm glad. Maybe this is what it will take to get her away from him.

A sharp pain interrupts my thoughts, cutting into my cheek from the corner of my lips. The Joker's insane grin is both lightning up and darkening his features, eyes intent on their work. The pain is so much.

God, it hurts so much.

I fall onto my side, the knife jerking out of my skin and scraping my cheekbone. My eyes are unfocused, hazy. They see my faithful Sam and Dean lying on the ground with bullets in their heads. Beautiful Kara, who had such a wonderful love of the Earth and nature, curled up right next to them.

The Joker grunts in frustration, leaning forward to finish the job. The point of the knife touches my skin where it left off, then moves. The Joker takes hold of my jaw with one hand and turns my head so the unmarred cheek is facing him. The same procedure takes place. Knife slid into mouth, pulled against the corner of lips until the skin breaks. Blood leaks out of the wound, but the Joker ignores it. The blade carves ever deeper into my flesh, but I'm too exhausted to scream. I try only feebly to move away from the monster, but I can't.

He's too strong.

Nothing can stop him now.

But wait. Yes, there is. There is something that can stop him. A someone. But she isn't here. She's long gone.

Except she isn't.

Distantly, I hear an uncertain voice call out "Puddin'?"

The Joker freezes and so do I. I know that voice. But she's supposed to be long gone. Away from here, away from harm. But there she is, long, colorful blonde hair in tangled strands hanging around her face. She stares at him, then at me. She doesn't understand what's happening. The Joker is still leaning over me, preventing her from seeing what he's done to me.

Harley frowns. "Is everythin' okay, puddin'?" She asked, uncertainty ringing in her voice.

The Joker stares at her for a moment further before pulling himself to his feet. He's left the knife on the ground in front of my face, carefully concealing it from Harley. He opens his arms, stepping in front of me so she can't see.

Harley steps into the hug. He whispers something in her ear, though I can't hear what it is.

"Whaddya say we go home, hmm?"

Harley's voice answers, much more brightly this time. "Okay!"

And just like that, I've lost her. I've lost her again. She was so close this time, so close to giving him up. But once again, she's fallen into his trap. I don't know if she'll ever be able to escape.

The Joker has wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her toward the exit. I know she's already forgotten about me. That was the point. He wanted her to, and my friend is a slave to his will. Neither of them glance back at me, and the goons filter out behind them, carefully swerving around my staff and I.

The Joker has left me to die. And Harley doesn't even remember that I'm here.

I hear their vehicles start, driving down the road back towards Gotham. I lie in place for a moment, then force my limbs into motion.

He's got her again and I can't just let him have her. I won't. I try to move onto my knees, but even they can't take the pressure. My arms collapse beneath me, and I don't attempt to move again.

There is someone else with me now, I can sense it. Their feet pound against the ground as they race towards me, but I can't find it in me to care.

Harley's gone. For good this time. And I don't think that even the Bat will be able to bring her back this time.

* * *

 **A/N: *hides in uppermost bunk of bunk bed beneath pillows and heavy blankets* I'm BAAAACK!**

 **This is a freakin' LONG chapter, geez. I didn't mean for it to be this long, but then I got really inspired. I might have to change the story because of this. Oops.**

 **I really seem to like ending chapters with tortured and abused women passing out, don't I? That's not a good thing, nor is it a thing to laugh about.**

 **I hope I played Ivy and the Joker okay. This is really the first time I've ever done Ivy, and the Joker is HARD to portray. So let me know how I did!**

 **Also, a big thank you to everyone who read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this story. It means the world to me, you have no idea.**

 **I will continue to try and keep up with chapters, but I'm afraid that I can't give you an actual schedule as I would like to. I have high school to keep up with and one of the houses I stay at has no Internet, so it's not like I can upload.**

 **SO PLEASE BE PATIENT WITH ME!?**

 **Anyways, review to tell me how I did!**

 **Love you all! BYE ;3**

* * *

 **Alright, so. New thing. I changed the ending of this chapter a little, took somethings away and added another thing. The actual next chapter should be coming soon, though so see ya later!**


	3. Uhhh why are we here again?

**A/N: This new chapter came a lot quicker than the last one did. How long did chapter 2 take? Like, four months. *hangs head in shame***

 **But I'm back in business now, so please enjoy the story! I'll try not to end this chapter with Harley or Ivy in so much pain they have to pass out...**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad or the characters within.**

* * *

 **~Harley's POV~**

Weeks have passed since Mista J brought me home from Ivy's, though for the life of me, I can't remember why I was there. I was only able to figure out it was Ivy's place because of the L-O-N-G drive. A heavy cast still clings to my left wrist and every time I look at it I stuggle to remember how it happened. I've tried askin' Mista J, but he just shrugs and says I deserved it.

I wonder what on earth that means.

I've also tried callin' Ivy to ask why I was at her house, but no one picks up. Ever. Not Ivy, and if she's out then one of her hench-type people answer. Sam, Dean, Ed or Al. But there's nothin'. I want to go out and see what's up, but my puddin' has me on a sort of house-arrest type thing til my arm heals. He's even keepin' me out of the club so I don't work.

My puddin' can be so kind sometimes, when he's thinking of my safety and well-being. Not so much when it comes to other people, though.

I'm sittin' in the club, sippin' on some coffee when my puddin' walks in. He struts right up to me and kisses me on the cheek, and I laugh and wrap my arms around his neck. For some reason, he stiffens immediately and I pull back. "Somethin' wrong, puddin?" I ask.

There a cold sort of look in his eyes for half a second more before it disappears, and I wonder if I'd saw it in the first place. "All good here, Harles." Mista J sits down next to me and pats my cast, which is now decorated with pretty harlequin patterns of all colors, with green vines stretchin' between them. At the top, on top of my hand and below the knuckles there's a vivid acid-green and pink flower. I don't remember puttin' it there, and I know that it wasn't there when I...left Ivy's? I shake my head. Still tryin' to recall memories that are just out of reach.

His hand creeps up my arm, across my shoulder and lands on my cheek. I barely restrain the shudder of joy that runs through me. "What do ya' say we get that cast removed, hm?" He murmurs, hand strokin' my cheek. "I have a little job planned for us, something easy to get you back into the world."

I grin. "That sounds great, puddin'!" I slide my finger underneath the fiberglass edge of the cast and struggle to reach an itch that's been botherin' me for days now. "This thing is gettin' real old real quick!"

A muscle jumps in his cheek and I stare at him for a moment, wonderin'. "Everythin' all right, puddin'?"

Once again, acid-green eyes focus on me and I shudder. But it's not with joy this time. No, it's with fear. I can feel his malice, his hate for the world. And maybe, just maybe, that possible hate he has for me, too. But Mista J doesn't hate me. He wouldn't, would he? He's my puddin'. But it's gone now, that feelin'. I relax.

"Yes, Harley. Everything is fine." He hops up, grabbin' my uninjured hand and pullin' me through the empty club toward the door. "Now, let's go find a doctor to kidnap to take that cast off!"

* * *

Hours later, my arm free, pale, and skinny-looking, puddin' is drivin' at top speed on the highway. He swerves through lines and lines of cars, not hitting a single one. I find myself feelin' relieved that no one is likely to be walking on the highway at this time of night. I sit quietly in the seat next to puddin' examinin' my fingernails. Puddin's gotta be goin' much faster than the speed limit, certainly fast enough to kill us both should we crash. But it doesn't bother me. I've had years of practice of learnin' to learn to deal with the insane speeds. I look up, glancin' outside the window. I don't recognize this place.

"Where're we going, puddin'?" I ask, examinin' our surroundings a little closer. He's slowin' down now, watching for what I guess would be our turn.

He gives me a manic, sideways grin. "That's for me to know and you to find out, honey." After we make our turn, puddin' once again floors it. We're drivin' up a hill, and beyond that I can see lots of lights. I can hear loud music poundin' from over the hill, even through the closed windows of our armored truck. Behind us, taillights flash as Mista J's goons follow us up the drive.

I lean forward, waitin' impatiently to see where my puddin' was leadin' us. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him grin and the speed of the truck increases again, ever so slightly.

We're comin' to the crest of the hill now, and puddin pulls off to the left and into the gloriously manicured lawn. He parks the truck carefully, with my window facin' toward the house. I press my nose to the glass, staring.

It seems oddly familiar, the house. It's manicured lawns, perfect gardens that would've had even Ivy jealous, and a beautiful house of brick. I struggle to recall where I've seen it.

I decide on a magazine, because you see a lot of nice houses in magazines that are supposed to make you feel jealous of what other people have and you don't. I study the windows and the door, aware of my puddin' watchin' me carefully. Suddenly it dawns on me, and I start to get very, very worried. I know this house, its lawns, its gardens, everything. This house belongs to a very rich man, a very powerful man. Someone I wasn't sure I wanted to get into trouble with. I turn to stare at puddin' in shock.

"P-puddin'? We- We aren't really gonna go after...him? Are we?"

The insane grin returns, and a cringe go down my spine. "Of course we are, my darlin'!" He laughs, completely unaware of my distress. "If anyone's going to be fun to mess with, it'll be him!" He climbs out of the truck, slammin' the door shut. I flinch at the loud noise, then get out myself. I'm more careful with the noise level, though its not like really matters. Every one of puddin's goons are making as much noise as Mista J had with the door. By themselves.

I ignore them and walk past, lookin' up at the large house. Vines climb up the buildin' on the left, reaching for the stars. They remind me of Ivy for a moment, and once again my mind is filled with worry for my friend. I haven't heard from her in days, weeks even. It isn't like her, and I forgot earlier to ask puddin'. I know now's not the right time, I can't ask him now.

Puddin' walks up beside me, slidin' a gun into my hand. I accept it without a fight, starin' bleakly at it. Then I follow right behind puddin to go invade this really nice house.

The manor that belongs to Bruce Wayne.

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 **A/N: This wasn't as long as I expected, but everything I had in my plan for this chapter made it in, so I suppose I can't complain. Don't worry, though. The next one** _ **should**_ **, and I stress** _ **should**_ **, be longer. I don't know yet.**

 **Well, it's time for bed for me! See whenever I get the next chapter up!**

 **BYE ;3**


	4. I betray puddin' (and have no regrets)

**A/N: Hello, my lovelies! Was that creepy? If it was, I'll never say it again, I promise. Sorry this chapter's so long. I haven't really had chance to write lately because my AP Euro teacher acts like literally none of my other teachers give me homework or that I've got absolutely nothing else outside of school to do. It's frustrating.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I lost the planning sheet somewhere in the last few weeks, so I'm not quite sure what I had planned, so I guess I'll just have to wing it.**

 **BYE ;3**

* * *

We approach quietly from the outside, bein careful to stay away from the driveway where guests in really fancy cars are still makin their way to the house. I stare up at this huge, beautiful house, and I have to wonder what it is my puddin has planned. There's soft classical music emanating from the house through the windows and the open front doors. It's pretty and I want to stop and listen to it, but I know puddin might get angry if I did that while in the middle of a job.

Speaking of, what is the job? I stare curiously at puddin's broad back, still wondering what we're doing here. Are we just here to ruin Wayne's little soiree, or what? He turns to me with a wild grin, danger flashing in his eyes even then.

"You ready, Harles?"

I nod without thinking, taking the never-used safety off my gun and placing my finger an inch away from the trigger. But my uncertainty takes hold. Before he can turn away from me and give the order to begin I reach forward and grab his wrist. The Joker freezes and I almost lose my nerve right then and there. His acid green eyes move to my hand on his wrist, then they travel slowly up my arm and settle on my eyes. Terror lances its way through me and I suddenly question why on Earth I decided to _touch him_ , of all things. That was probably the absolute _worst_ thing I could've done to gain his attention.

I gulp, fear sticking in my throat and gluing my mouth shut. He stares at me for a full thirty seconds, and even the goons have the sense to keep their loud mouths shut. I stare back into his eyes, unable to speak for fear of what he might say or do.

But his eyes should have been enough. The eyes are the window into the soul, huh? His eyes are empty, filled with a mindless hatred of everything from the Bat to the world to...me. Yes, even me. I can see it now, the revulsion that covers his features as his gaze moves back to where my hand is clamped on his wrist. He doesn't want me touching him, the person he should love, the person he's supposed to love, and he doesn't even want me to touch him.

I fight the urge to run away screaming, or maybe the safer way, run screaming into Bruce Wayne's manor. I don't think even Wayne would let the Joker hurt me.

His eyes travel back to mine, and I know he's done. The hatred and revulsion is back now, stronger than ever. The want, the need, to kill, to hurt, to cause as much damage as humanly-no. As inhumanly possible. Of all the things in the world that the Joker remind me of in this moment, human is not one of them.

I've heard somewhere, some quote by some old English guy, that some men don't care. They do things, evil things, because they can. They hate the world, and all they want is to destroy it.

Some men just want to see the world burn.

Yes indeed, the eyes are the window to the soul. But what then if you don't have one? His acid-green eyes find mine again, and I find I'm not at all surprised by the sudden act of violence he shows toward me. I really should have let go sooner.

In a move so fast I'm not even sure what happens, the Joker rips my hand away from his arm and twists it behind my back, shoving me onto my stomach on the ground, his knee in the middle of my back. Ignoring my yelp of pain from my still healing arm, he tightens his grip and I feel hot breath on my neck. I want to struggle, but that would only make it worse. My breathing is fast, much faster than I'm comfortable with. I'm dizzy, disoriented from the sudden change in position and the pain in my arm.

"Do yourself a favor, _puddin_ , and don't touch me unless I tell you to," he hisses directly into my ear, and I whimper. "You are on _very_ thin ice sweetheart, and if you're not careful you'll fall through." A menacing giggle escapes his throat and I feel a shudder run through my body. "And then you'll either drown or die of hypothermia, whichever one is up to you. Understand, Harles?"

"Y-yes!"

"Say 'yes, Mista J, I understand'."

I take a shuddering breath. "Y-yes, Mista J, I understand."

He pats my head. "Good girl."

His weight is suddenly gone and I can breathe again. I cough into the ground and think it's a miracle I'm not horking. I _hate_ horking.

I lay there on there on the ground for a little while after the Joker has ordered his men out. They won't go in yet, I know that. He'll want to be sure about what he's getting into before he gets into it.

Finally, I sit up and look around. I can see him and the goons standing near the huge picture windows, yet not so close that they could be spotted. He's not looking in my direction. No one is. I wonder if he's giving me a choice. Either join them, or run away and let him come after me and kill me later. For some reason, I know for an absolute fact that I cannot go to Ivy's. It won't be safe there.

I sigh, folding up my legs and wrapping my arms around them. How have I not noticed before? He hates me and this world and everything in it. How have I somehow lasted this long? I've known him for somewhere near a decade, somehow viewing him the entire time as an angel worthy of my love.

My gaze returns to where the Joker now stares up at me, waiting for me to make my choice. I can still see the malice behind his eyes, though now it's covered with a mask. Do I run, or do I join him? I look past him towards the house, and know that that's my safest option. If I want to get away from him, I'll have to start with going in. With him.

I take a deep breath, then stand. I bend over to pick up my gun, then start making my way down the small hill toward where the Joker waits.

He stares at me coldly, not saying a word. I'm glad he doesn't, and I won't either. I wonder what his grand plan for getting into this house it, then quickly realize that there isn't one. He's just gonna walk in, guns-a-blazing. I suppose it works. The Joker won't care for loss of the goons' lives and nobody inside is going to try to shoot at the Joker, for their own sake.

Only a fool would shoot at the Joker. But then, this world is filled with fools. Especially this town.

He leads the group toward the main stairs, ignoring the shocked gasps of horror and fear. Well, ignores them for the most part. I walk a little way behind him, wanting to stay out of the line of fire. A couple guards spot him, and after the initial surprise, rush him. The Joker opens fire without a thought and the guards drop dead, while guests start screaming in terror and trying to get as far away from the mad clown as fast as possible. Joker stops, grins, and turns to face them. I watch in horror as he simply stares at the guests for a mere moment before reaching behind him to one of his goons and holding out a hand for a larger gun.

He aims it at the guests, who've by now figured out what Joker is up to and are screaming at each other and trying to get away. Some do, but the majority of the group had stayed in the same spot. I look at the gun Joker is holding. A great big Tommy gun. I'd consider it beautiful if it weren't about to be responsible for the deaths of about thirty people.

He laughs maniacally, using about three or four bullets per person. Amidst the screaming, classily-dressed people collapse one by one as red blood blossoms across their chests or stomachs. I want to look away, but I can't. The horrifying the scene the Joker is creating _while laughing_ the entire time has left me unable to look away, to forget these images flashing before my eyes. But it has also left me with this new, unforgettable reverie. I wonder how long I've been under his spell, unable or unwilling, or both, to break free. But I won't forget this time. I won't let myself fall back into his power.

I know stopping him at this point in our- how do you say?- _relationship_ would be suicide at best, so I decide the only viable option is to let it be. Everyone's almost dead anyways, why stop him now? The gun either runs out of ammo or people to kill, and suddenly the grounds are silent except for him. He's still laughing as he drops the gun and pulls out his pistol again, making his way up the marble steps.

The doors are still open and I can heart the sounds of many pairs of feet and plenty of worried talk. The aforementioned pairs of feet are pounding toward the door, and I mentally apologize to the poor schmuck that makes it to the door first. Because the first person he'll meet will be my unofficial ex-boyfriend, and the Joker doesn't seem to be in his best mood. Yes, he's laughing. But he does that, generally more manically when he's unhappy. Judging from the evidence, he's downright gloomy.

I think _fucking pissed_ might be the most apt description.

I was right. The poor fellow who met the Joker first didn't meet a happy, let alone peaceful, end. His pale face turned even whiter before he promptly tried to escape while slamming the large, heavy doors shut in the process. He didn't make it that far. The Joker's gun went off and the bloke fell to the ground with a red and black hole in the middle of his forehead.

Yells of alarm sounded behind him, further into the hall and I knew they were now aware of our confirmed presence. Several men shouted that the building was being attacked, and I had to resist the urge to shoot them myself.

No! The building's not under attack! What on earth- or any other planet, for that matter- made you think that? The frackin _Joker_ is only here, several guns in hand and what amounted to an army of goons following him! But no! You're all fine, we're just here to join the party!

I sigh, sticking my own gun back into the waistband of my tiny shorts. No, I can't shoot them. I won't. Isn't that the whole point of leaving him? The whole point of getting away from that awful prison and those guards who had more than once come into my cage looking for some action? I shake my head. Yes, that is the point. I want to get away from him, so he can't hurt me ever again. I don't know why, but I feel like a part of that healing involves not killing anyone. Even if they are the world's biggest dumbasses who probably _deserve_ to die, I can't. I have to move on.

But I don't have much other choice than to follow the Joker into Bruce Wayne's house. If only so I can get away.

It isn't hard to find where the party is located. All we have to follow the bread crumb trail of people. They're all fleeing toward it, as if hoping that will save them. One look at my ex-puddin tell me they aren't gonna make it out tonight no matter what happens.

We walk into the huge, grandiosely decorated ball room. It really is beautiful, tastefully decorated with ornate golden furnishings. About a hundred people stand around, huddling against the wall. There are a few "brave" men trying to shield the ladies from harm, but it won't work.

The Joker dances into the middle of the room, still laughing wildly. He fires his gun into the air, silencing the few whispers of fear that echoed throughout the room. He sticks the gun back into the waistband of his pants, as if he hadn't a fear in the world of being attacked by Wayne's security.

"Hello, Gotham!" He all but shrieks, and I wince from the loud sound. Geez, this place really does echo. I step into a dark corner of the room, hoping to avoid notice. Obviously, that's not completely possible. There's an old couple sharing my corner, and they stare at me in fear. I give them my best reassuring smile and try not to look threatening. If not reassuring, I hope the smile says something along the lines of _guys, I'm the same boat as you here._ Though from the looks on their faces, that's not the message they received. Oh well. It's not their attention I want to avoid, and as long as they don't draw his, I'm fine and dandy.

My glance moves back to the Joker, and I'm surprised to find a single man walking steadily but carefully towards him. I recognize the man instantly, surprised to find Bruce Wayne bold enough to take on the Joker.

Wayne walks quietly and quickly, not wasting any time. I see his gaze flicker toward me, and his expression is briefly confused, probably wondering why I'm hiding in the corner instead of right beside the Joker. But he's hidden it in a moment, attention returning to the Joker. And if Joker noticed Wayne's change in expression, he certainly didn't show it. For which I am extremely grateful.

Wayne stares the Joker in the face, and I'm surprised to find that my heart is beating faster. I'm surprised to find that I'm worried for Wayne, if only because the rich guy might be able to save me. Wayne spares me one more weird glance then speaks to the Joker.

"What might I be able to do for you, Joker?" He asks, voice cold. I don't know how the guy manages to sound so brave in the face of _him_.

Joker grins wildly, then takes a spin throughout the large room with hands in the air. "Why, I came to crash of course!" He stops in front of Wayne, eyes glittering with malice. "When I heard my old friend Brucey was throwing a party and he hadn't invited me, well. I felt a little hurt. I was _sure_ perhaps my invite had gotten lost in the mail."

He moves closer, and I wonder how much of Wayne's willpower was spent not backing away. His face was emotionless and cold, showing no sign of fear or concern for what was unfolding.

"'But what if Brucey _didn't_ send me an invite', I thought to myself. 'What if Brucey was just being rude! Well then,' I thought to myself, 'Self, we're just going to have to teach our friend Brucey a lesson!'" The Joker moves so fast I almost don't see it. In half a moment, his gun is pulled from his pants and is pressed to Wayne's forehead. Joker glares furiously at the other man, a little peeved that Wayne doesn't seem too bothered by the firearm pointed somewhere, should it be fired, would kill him instantly.

Except for the initial gasps of horror and fear and concern at the Joker's latest actions, the room is completely silent. As if the crowd is hoping that being silent won't trigger the insane clown. A smile almost finds its way onto my lips. It won't work. The Joker will do whatever he pleases, triggered into it or not.

The dawning smile disappears as the Joker's sharp voice suddenly rings out. "Harley!" He snaps. My breathing quickly accelerates and I want nothing more to be able to melt into the shadows like the Bat does. But I know that's impossible, especially with this brightly lit room and my rather fluorescent clothing choice. With no other option, I step forward.

"Y-yes, Jok- I mean, Mista J?" I can hear the tremble and stutter in my voice and wince. I hope it's not to obvious to him and he just thinks it's a result of this giant room.

"Come here." His voice is hard, empty, and devoid of any emotion. I shudder, but walk towards him. Wayne stares at me, seemingly fascinated with something he sees. I don't know what. We've never met before, but that's no reason for _this_. I'm sure we've never met before. So why does he look as if he knows me?

His voice is still devoid of any inflection. "Take out your gun and take my place."

I do as he says, thinking that perhaps he should check his wording. That sentence could be misconstrued in many different ways. But I'm not sure what would happen should my nerve fail, so I place my gun against Wayne's head and Joker pulls away.

"Do keep an eye on Mister Wayne here, Harley." Grabbing my chin roughly between his forefinger and thumb and jerking my head to the side, effectively forcing me to look him in his malice-filled eyes, he whispers; "Keep an extra close eye on him, or I shall be forced to call into question what remains of your loyalty and just how much you're still worth to me." My entire body shudders underneath his hand, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Wayne's widen. With what, I'm not sure. Is that concern I see in his eyes? Odd. Never in my life would I have thought Bruce Wayne would ever give a shit about me.

Trying to keep my voice steady, I chirp "Yes, puddin'!" Joker stares at me a moment more before removing his hand and walking around the room, causing the guests to press themselves as far as they could against their respective walls.

My gaze moves back to Wayne and my eyes narrow. He's up to something. His hand is moving toward his pocket and his eyes ask me if I'm going to stop him. Hell no. If Wayne's got something up his sleeve to stop, or even just hinder the Joker, then I'm gonna let him use it. Even if I get sent back to Arkham after this, it'll be worth it.

Wayne pulls something out of his pocket, though I can't see what it is because his hand is tightly wrapped around it. Whatever it is, it's small, and I think round. Both our eyes move to follow the Joker, who I think seems to having a bit too much fun harassing a small blonde woman.

Wait. Small blonde woman? I look again. Her face is caked in bright, gaudy-looking makeup, with a tiny dress to match. She kinda looks like me. Aye yi yi. He didn't even wait to find a new ho, did he? No, he didn't. He knows. He knows I've already gone, that I'm no longer loyal to him. So he's gonna convince some random chick at Wayne's party to throw herself into a vat of acid and go insane to be "the love of his life". So much for me. He's probably planning to kill me as soon as he's done here.

I guess it's a good thing Wayne's probably on my side. Probably. I look back at him, and he nods at me with the barest, faintest trace of a smile. Wayne suddenly strikes me as familiar, though I can't place where. I've obviously never met him before, I think I'd remember that. But then, I do seem to be having a problem with my memory these days. Oh well. It'll come to me later. He glances down at his hand, then at the Joker, then at me. I know what he wants, and I make my decision.

I remove my finger from the trigger and my arm falls, no longer feeling the particular need or want to hold the heavy gun up. Wayne's barest, faintest trace of a smile widens. Into a faint _hint_. Does this guy have no other expressions? He's handsome though, so I suppose that makes up for it. Le sigh.

Before the Joker decides to suddenly notice what's happened between me and Wayne, Wayne suddenly moves so quickly I blink in surprise. Hello fastest draw in the west. Who'da thought some pansy rich guy might be even faster than the Bat? Well, okay. Maybe not a pansy. He _is_ standing up to the Joker, after all. That takes some guts. I should know.

The small round object Wayne was holding is hurled in the Joker's direction. To my dismay, it flies right past him and hits the quickly vacated wall. The Joker glances towards the small object when he hears the clatter of metal against mahogany. It rolls away from the wall, to the Joker's feet.

I glance at Wayne, but he's completely focused on the Joker. I look towards him as well. The Joker is looks back at us with a huge smirk on his face. "Looks like ya missed, Brucey!" He giggled. "I didn't think anyone could be that bad a shot!" Then his eyes focus on me, and I fight the sudden, nearly uncontrollable urge to run away. "And you, Harley." His voice is like steel; cold, smooth, with no inflection whatsoever. "It seems you and I have some issues concerning loyalty. I do believe we'll talk about when we arrive home."

For the first time since I've been with the Joker, I want to laugh. For real, and not because he wants me to, or because I'm the Clown King's crazy-ass girlfriend and feel compelled to because of my position. No. A real, proper belly-laugh. But I don't. Because right about now, the Joker's staring at me hungrily. Not like he's mentally undressing me, no. There are two types of "hungry stares" the Joker gets. One, the one where _is_ mentally undressing me. Two, the one where he stares at a particular person he'd like to murder. And right now, I'm sensing type two. And right now, I'm also sensing that that particular person is me. Whoops, I've made him angry again. What a _shocker_.

Loyalty issues indeed. I want to say exactly what I'm thinking, but I'm interrupted. The little sphere at the Joker's feet suddenly exploded. Not with fire, like a grenade. With little metal wires. Said little metal wires curl from the sphere terrifyingly quickly and move toward the closest person to it. The Joker. Before the Joker can even think of doing anything, or probably even process what the hell is happening, the wires have run up his legs, first individually, but then around both. Soon, they're enveloping his entire body, wrapping him up in a metal cocoon.

Before it starts up his neck, he begins to laugh. It's choked sounding, like he can't get enough air to laugh properly. His foot moves, like he wants to take a step, but he falls forward flat against the floor. His glare meets my eyes, and this time I don't deny the urge to back away. I do, and suddenly I'm standing behind Wayne. He's stepped in front of me, and by the set of his wide shoulders, rather protectively. He doesn't like the way the Joker's looking at me either. This guy continues to confuse me.

Anyways, the Joker moves his glare to Wayne for a brief moment before looking back me. My heart beats quicker and my breathing hitches. The wires are curling around his jaw and up the back of his head. Only a few seconds until it covers his face as well. The glare pins me in place. "Just wait, Harley," he snarls, and I jump. "Just you wait until I'm free! I will find you, you little bitch. And I _will_ kill you, and your new wannabe boyfriend. You can be fucking sure about that, whore." And just like that, the little harmless-looking metal wires have concealed his face and cut off the rest of whatever he was going to say. I'm glad.

I collapse to my knees with a shudder and try to conceal a sob. I can't. Tremors shake my body, and I cover my face with my hands. For some unknown reason, I wish I was back at Belle Reve. Perhaps because there, it was could be considered mostly safe. Mostly devoid of people who would want to kill me. Has a few friends. So maybe not completely an unknown reason.

Dimly, I can hear someone speaking orders, and the sounds of many people leaving the room. Someone kneels down next to me, putting a warm hand on my shoulder. I don't flinch away from the touch. I look up at Wayne's face, which still had that faint hint of a smile I kind of wanted to hate, but couldn't.

"You're safe now, Harley. You don't have to worry or be scared anymore."

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 **A/N: So how was that for a chapter? I tried to make it as long as I could without making it ridiculously long. Is 10 pages enough? I hope so.**

 **WAIT! Do I have any Pentatonix fans here?! Have you seen the new video! AGGGGHHHH Kevin's voice makes me want to do something with my life, which is how I somehow finished most of this in an hour.**

 **Thank Kevin Olusola guys.**

 **Anyways, thank you for reading the latest chapter! Happy you somehow made it through my writing and attempts at writing Joker and Harley! See you next chapter!**

 **OKAY I'M DONE LOVE YOU BYE ;3**


	5. Flirting with butlers is fun

**A/N: I have a new story plan, which is DEFINITELY not the same as the old one, lol. OMG, I think you guys are going to like where this is going! I'm so excited to see where this goes and what you guys will think of it!**

 **I'm gonna start doing this thing where I respond to the reviews right here in the AN, so there's that now.**

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 **Response to reviews:**

 **GSETHEMAJOR4: Yeah, it's a good thing Bruce is there now. Harley's gonna start needing him a lot more in the future...hehehe**

 **XxXcobraXxX: Aw, thanks! After rewatching the movie a couple times, and then watching everything I could get my hands on in the cartoons and seeing how harsh the Joker was in those too, I felt I just needed to do my best to represent in terms of real life just how bad the Joker was to her. I'm glad you like the story!**

 **Rouge47: Dude (or Dudette, lol), you've been here since the beginning! Thanks for still sticking around through my still-developing writing (especially when I'm tired and it might not all make sense!)**

 **FirstSnake1: The Bruce/Harley does not end there, my friend!**

 **Agent94: I look forward to it, too. If I'm not mistaken, you reviewed on You Love Me 'Cause I Hate You, right? You really have been here since the beginning!**

 **AvengerMutantPeculiar: GAAAAAH PTX IS LIIIIIFE! I thought Bohemian Rhapsody was very well done, especially for an a capella group, and even though a lot of people don't like their cover. I thought it was brilliant. And Can't Help Falling In Love With You was beautiful, and it really brought tears to my eyes. I'll stop ranting now! But still, thanks!**

 **Wolfy-Queen: I was hoping readers would ship Bruce/Harley! I think most people ship Joker/Harley mostly because they haven't stopped to think about how terrible he was to her, especially since the cartoons downplay just how much of a psycho Joker is.**

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 **And now! The next chapter begins!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I just like to take the characters and play around with them.**

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My eyes open slowly to a light-filled room. It is really bright, and I wonder why on earth there's so much light. Then I wonder where I am, because I sure as hell have never had a bed this fancy. Or comfortable. I turn my head, only to find that was probably a mistake. Know what? Never mind "probably," it was a mistake. Gah.

I blink quickly, hoping my eyes will quickly adjust to the light. It takes a moment, but then the events of the previous day hit me with the speed and force of an out-of-control 16-wheeler. I watched Mista J do that to a guy once. It wasn't very pleasant.

Ah. Mista J. He's gone now isn't, he? Wrapped up in a bunch of wires. I wonder if he suffocated under there, or if its just meant to hold him in place until Wayne can find something to do with him. Time to find out, eh? I press my hands to the mattress below me and slowly force my stiff body to do what I want it to. I sit up carefully, completely and painfully aware of every bruise that colors my skin. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and hunch over my knees, simultaneously stretching and and waiting for the aches to subside. Before I've sat up, I hear a polite _ahem_.

I glance up slowly, seeing a tall, gray-haired man standing near the window. His back is straight and his pose is respectful, though this guy _has_ to know I'm not exactly respectable. The man wears a black tailcoat over gray pants, and wears it with pride. And here I was thinking no one could get away with wearing tailcoats anymore. Only butlers in movies wear tailcoats, though clearly I'm wrong about that. Nevertheless, the English-sounding clearing of the throat he'd made a moment before makes me think of a butler from a movie, so I'm sticking with butler.

I blink at him, sleep still fogging up my very tired, abused brain. "Who're you?"

His eyes are cold, though not in the cruel way as the Joker's were. Cold, but kind of...pitying? Is that what I see in his gaze?

"I am Master Bruce's butler" (Called it!) "Alfred Pennyworth, and he's asked me to make sure you're comfortable. Right now, that includes acquiring some, ahem, _less-revealing_ and perhaps somewhat more comfortable clothes for you."

I look down at my mostly naked legs, chewing on my lip. The booty shorts don't exactly command respect, though hadn't been what i was going for. The t-shirt I wear, the same one I wore throughout most of _Suicide Squad_ , is in tatters. Mista J and Ivy had both pleaded with me to get rid of the damn thing, hell, even Rick Flagg wondered why the frack I kept it. Maybe, subconsciously, I knew that something during the mission to save the world had changed forever within me. Maybe I wanted to keep something of that with me, to remind myself, possibly even knowing that I would need to be reminded.

God, I'm finally free of _Mista J_ , and my brain is still fracking weird.

I look back up at Mista-Butler-Man and nod, biting back a grin. "I could probably do with a clothing change." Mista-Butler-Man nods, and gestures with his hand out the door.

"Come along, then. We still have some Mrs. Wayne's clothing hidden in one of the rooms, and Master Bruce offered their use to you if they should fit."

I nod, reach over to the bedside table and pull my harlequin-patterned leather jacket toward me and slide it over my shoulders to provide at least a little more protection for my skin. I stand and stretch properly, maybe-possibly-definitely giving Mista-Butler-Man quite a nice view of my ass. When I straighten up again, the butler is a satisfying shade of pink, though that cold look remains steadfast in his eyes. "Well?" I ask. "Are we going?"

It's his turn to nod, and he steps quickly to the door and steps out, with me very nearly on his heels. Mista-Butler-Man leads me through several winding hallways I'm not sure I'll ever be able to memorize, and a moment later I wonder why I would need to memorize the way around this house. It's not like I'll be staying long anyway. I shake my head, barely keeping myself from saying something aloud. It's what I would normally do when having some odd thought that comes out of nowhere, but I don't really want Mista-Butler-Man to think I'm even crazier than I am. That, and I honestly think that might be a habit I should try to get rid of.

What's that saying? Thirty days to start a habit, one day to break a habit? Thirty days busy trying to form a habit of not speaking to myself about odd thoughts. Yeah, that sounds fun. Oh well. Why not start now? No time like the present.

Ahead of me, and I mean right ahead, Mista-Butler-Man pauses suddenly and I almost run into his back. I throw a rather half-hearted glare at the back of his head, watching as he pulls out a ring of keys and selects one from the bunch. It's a large black key, unlike the others, which are small-ish and silver. He fits it into the lock and turns the key, simultaneously pushing the door open and stepping inside. I follow quickly, stopping in the doorway.

The room is on the small size, which I find surprising because nothing in this mansion seems to be normal-sized. In the center of the back wall, opposite the door, is a large queen-sized, which may in fact have been what made the room seem so small. Against the wall, on the bed's left side, is a large armoire made of dark wood, perhaps mahogany. The room as a whole has a dusty, unused feeling to it, as if no one's even stepped foot in here since Wayne's parents died. Maybe no one has.

Mista-Butler-Man steps further into the room and gestures with his hand toward the armoire. "There are some of Mrs. Wayne's old clothes still kept in here. If none of them fit, I'm sure I'll be able to find something else in another room."

I nod, stepping fully into the room and opening the dark wooden doors. The clothes are older, but still functional. They don't smell of mothballs or anything, which is another good thing. _And_ , they're cute, in a late 1970s-early 1980s sort of way. Glancing briefly at the tag size, I decide Mrs. Wayne's clothes will fit just fine. I undo my rather large-sized belt and push down my shorts to the ground, then pull my t-shirt up over my head and throw it on top of my shorts.

A strangled sort of cough reaches my ears from behind, and I grin. "Am I makin' you uncomfortable, Mista-Butler-Man?"

"Only a bit, Ms. Quinn," the stiff English says.

"It's completely within your power to leave the room right now, and you haven't done it yet? It almost seems like there's something you _want_ to see." I consider bothering the poor guy a bit more and pulling off my bra, but I figure he's had enough and he's only still here because he feels the need to keep an eye on me in case I'm gonna try something.

I reach into the armoire and pull out a pastel green dress with long sleeves that looks as if it would come down to my knees, or just below. I slip it on over my head, enjoying the feeling of light cotton falling over my skin. Pulling my hair out of the collar that comes and inch or two up my neck and pulling closed the zipper that runs from right between my shoulder blades to the top of the collar, I look into the mirror and realize there are small belt loops around the waistline. Trying to stick a finger through and only successfully getting a fingernail in, I think it must be for a thin cloth sash. Digging around a moment more, and I find said sash of the same pastel green and slip it through the belt loops securing the dress in place.

I examine my image in the mirror for a few seconds, then turn around again to the still-blushing butler. "Lead on, Jeeves! Where to next?"

"Master Bruce would like you to have breakfast with him. He has a few questions for you to answer, and something else to discuss with you." His tone makes me think that he doesn't approve of whatever it is "Master Bruce" wants to talk to me about, and I wonder what it could possibly be.

Alfred Pennyworth once again leads the way through the large house, and once again I'm boggled by the size of it. Like, for real. Who needs a house this size, especially if there are only two people living here?! Rich people are _weird_ , man.

After more rights and lefts than I can possibly be expected to remember, we enter into a medium-sized room, or what could be considered medium-sized for this size of house. The dining room is about the size of a high-school lunchroom that's meant for two or three hundred people, and again I find myself wondering _why_. Again, only two people live here.

There's a single table about ten feet long in the very center of the room, stacked with many dishes with many different types of food set upon it. At the end of the table opposite to where I'm standing, is Bruce Wayne. He's sitting back against his chair, studying a newspaper that was held tightly by both hands. A plate of untouched food sits before him, looking thoroughly abandoned and rather sad-looking. I think I'd be more than happy to provide it with some company. Ya' know. In my stomach.

I didn't realize until now just how hungry I am. With the Joker, I'm almost used to sometimes going days without food. It was one of the reasons I _did_ mind leaving Belle Reve. It's honestly the only place where I've had three square meals a day, every day. It was quite nice, really. Especially after I got my espresso machine.

But now I kinda mind, and I'm _starving_. But I don't want to just rush in and start eating, I get the feeling that would be kinda rude. I wouldn't want to get myself kicked out of this fancy-ass house before I've had a chance to talk to Wayne. Then again, I suppose, I've already been kinda, hm, bad. But not that bad, right?! I've only shown off my ass to the butler once!

Or twice.

Whoops.

Really, though, if showing off my rather fantabulous ass (thank you very much) gets me kicked out of Wayne's house, then I'm not really sure I want to be here anyway. But, you know, FOOD.

I almost walk right past Mista-Butler-Man and go straight for the food when I glance at his face. Jeeves looks downright respectful, and he stands in the doorway, back straight and arms at his sides as he waits for his master (employer?) to aknowledge him. It's about three minutes before Wayne takes the trouble to notice us, and I'm steadily growing more and more impatient by the second, and the food is beckoning to me. It's calling to me, singing to me, and I simply _must_ answer the call of my people.

Wait.

What the actual fracking fuck.

Why do I do this.

Holy Avi Kaplan, I really do deserve that isolated cell in Arkham. Honestly, I'm going to be completely shocked if Wayne doesn't just have Jeeves over here dial my former workplace as soon as I'm busy stuffing my face

 _(I wanna stuff some chocolate in my face!)_

with breakfast foods and gorging myself. You do not understand how hungry I am. You puny mortals will never understand.

Jesus, I'm doing it again. What the hell is wrong with me?

Aw, crap. It's that time of month again, isn't it? Mista J never liked it when my period-time came around. Beat me black and blue in places no one would see every time he found blood on the toilet seat or something, as if it was something I could control. Actually, I could probably wipe off the toilet seat, but that's not the point.

I always get super hungry when it's that time of month, so maybe that's it. I'm not feeling that squishy ovary-blood sensation in my underwear and between the tops of my thighs, and there are no cramps that make my ovaries feel as if they're being tortured in hell with Sam Winchester, so it must be just a few days before the cycle starts.

Thank the Olympians. I really don't feel like dealing with my period just now.

Why am I thinking about these things, anyway? My fate for the next while is probably about to be decided by Wayne, and I'm standing here dwelling on the past and wondering if it's that time of month again.

Goddammit, Wayne, just say something already! Say something so I can stop thinking about things because I can't make myself and I have no fucking willpower!

Three minutes after Mista-Butler-Man and I arrived, Wayne finally looks up at us. He nods us into the room, and I follow quickly on Jeeves' heels.

"Miss Harley Quinn, sir."

A small smile twitches at Wayne's lips. "I can see that, Alfred. Thank you, you may go."

Mista-Butler-Man nods and exits stage right, probably off to bleach my entire room or something. I turn my eyes back to Wayne, who's still sitting quietly in his chair and staring at me with an almost fascinated expression. I stare back at him with only a little less impatience than before, waiting once again for him to say something.

Finally, I can no longer take the silence or the stare. "Well, are you gonna say something or not?"

His lips twitch again, and for another moment he doesn't say anything. I open my mouth again, honestly beginning to feel a bit unnerved by the stare at this point. I only like it when people stare at me when I want them to, not because _they_ feel like it. But before I can say anything, Wayne is standing and walking toward me.

He's dressed in a silk-looking robe that ends just above his knees and a pair of soft-looking sweatpants below that. Underneath the robe (the top part guys ew) is bare chest. Wayne's let the robe fall open in a wide V down his chest, giving me a _very_ nice view of a spectacularly well-toned chest, pecs, his bellybutton (my gods he's an outie), and not much more than that. I feel disappointment for a single moment before I get kinda mad at myself.

For real, I just got out of the epitome of unhealthy relationships and I'm already thinking about, um, other things?! God, hormones, give it a rest!

Wayne approaches me with a slight smile on his face, definitely bigger than the faint hint of a smile he gave last night and his hand held out.

"Good morning, Harley. I trust you slept well?" I take his hand, nodding.

"Yeah, I did." I can't find much else to say, especially with him still staring at me weirdly.

"What are you staring at?" I finally burst out, unable to take it any more.

"Hm? Oh, nothing. It's just..." His dark eyes are hesitant, like he's calculating his next words. "You look very beautiful, Harley."

My jaws hits the ground as Wayne turns and walks to the closest seat the table, opposite his own. Beautiful, huh? Jeez. And here I am trying not to fall for the guy.

Wayne pulls out the chair and gestures to it. "Boy, what a gentleman," I mumble as I sit carefully, still mindful of bruises. Another half quirk of the mouth and Wayne walks back to his own seat, intertwining his fingers and setting his chin upon them.

"Please, Harley, feel free to eat. We have a little free time before we need to discuss some important matters."

I stare at Wayne a moment, trying to figure out what's going on inside that guarded head of his. It's really frustrating, because normally I'm able to read people quite well, but with Wayne, it's almost impossible. Even those smiles before seemed deliberate, as if to distract me from some other line of thought, though what that might be, I'm not sure.

I nod, pick up a fork and shovel as many things from as many plates as possible before I start pigging out. Jesus, it's been awhile since I've eaten. God, I am _so_ hungry. Wayne simply stares at me in an amused fashion while I eat, waiting for me to be done. I'm getting kind of indignant now. I really honestly could care less if someone sees me naked. But when I'm eating? That's my vulnerable moment. Know how most people get shy or indignant, and are really just downright vulnerable if someone they don't really know see them naked? Yeah, that's me when I'm eating. Too many people have seen my body courtesy of the Joker for me to be embarrassed by being naked. But here Wayne is, just staring at me, _watching_ me while I eat.

Finally, I really just can't take any more. My stomach is mostly full anyway, so it's not like I need to each much more. I empty my mouth, clear my throat, and take a drink. Then; "Could you not, please?"

Wayne blinks, obviously confused. "Sorry?"

"Damn right, you're sorry! I don't appreciate being watched while I eat! And the way you were staring, honestly, I found it kinda pervy."

Wayne doesn't look nearly abashed enough. Probably because he doesn't get it. "I'm not following."

"Okay, then! I'll break it down for ya, shall I sweetheart? I don't like it when people watch me eat, because to me, it's the equivalent of having somebody you don't know see you naked? Make sense?"

"I...suppose." the guy still looks confused, and I find myself unsurprised he lost his business. "So, what? You don't care if somebody you don't know sees you naked, but you care when I watch you eat?"

"Too many random people have me without my clothes on for me to really care anymore, but eating? That's really only done when I'm alone, and no one's around. It's me time, which I don't often get."

Finally, Wayne nods. "I understand now, I'll do my best to fix that in the future."

In the future, huh? He says that like I'll be staying. Smooth as butter, my friend. Friend? Nah, he's more like someone I'd like to fuck if he wasn't so fracking weird.

God, I need to stop this. Help me, please. I'm speaking to you lot out there, you lurkers. I need some advice here, and your "not-reviewing" crap is not helping! Can't a cute, lovable girl like me get some help, please?!

No? Guess not. I guess I'll just try somewhere else. Maybe Harleen. She's still locked up in my melon somewhere, right? I vaguely remember hearing her a while ago, though I can't remember exactly when. Damn Joker, his fucking spell, or whatever it is, is still on me. I'm still having issues remembering things that should super, super easy for me to recall. But it isn't helping. Wonder what the frack's going on. Oh well, this story will reveal it in time.

Going back to the present...Wayne must think I'm really fracking crazy now. I wonder how long I've been spacing out, thinking to myself. Wayne's giving this weird look, almost concerned. "Harley? You all right?"

I shake my head, as if clearing thoughts, then realize Wayne might take that as a sign that I'm not okay and quickly toss a half smile his way. "Yeah, man. I'm cool, just thinking about some stuff."

After a moment, Wayne nods. "Alright. You ready to talk about those important matters now?"

"Hell yeah, no more waiting."

Wayne nods. "First thing I'll tell you, the Joker has been safely transported back to Arkham Asylum and put in the most secure cell they have."

I snort. "They said the one they put him in last time was the most secure cell they have. What makes this one any different?"

Now Wayne smirks. "This time, Wayne Tech has donated a containment cell to the Arkham Asylum, one remarkably similar to the one your friend El Diablo inhabited for several years before his supposed death."

Okay, I'm a little impressed. But still. "Okay, great. You know he's still going to escape again, right? There's nothing Mista J can't do if he sets his mind to it."

"Oh, I know, Harley, believe me. And it seems that in that one respect, the Joker and I are similar. If he does escape this new containment cell, I'll examine how he escaped it. And when I figure out how, I'll fix the flaw. If he escapes the de-flawed one, I'll just fix that one too, and it'll keep happening again and again until I've prevented every single escape measure Joker could possibly make. And then, Harley, he will truly be stuck in that cell forever."

"Well...kudos to your imagination and determination, Mista Wayne. _Truly_. But it doesn't matter. No matter how many cells you build or improve, Mista J will escape. There's no doubt about that in my mind. And then? He'll come for me, and he'll kill me. Honestly? The best prison for him I've seen so far was the weapon you used on him last night."

"Maybe, but that's not a permanent solution, Harley. If I'd kept him in those restraints much longer than I did, he would have died. If I put those restraints back on him, he will"

"Okay! Great! See if I give a fuck, Wayne! Go ahead, see if I do!"

"I understand wanting to keep the Joker as far away from you as possible, Harley, I do! But murder is not the answer!"

"I DON'T CARE!" Suddenly I'm standing, both palms having been slammed onto the table. Wayne stares at me with a mixture of worry and wariness. I may have just screamed at my host, but I'm too wound up to care.

"You don't understand, nobody does! You might think you know him, but you really, really don't! You don't know the things he's capable of, just how far he's willing to go! Now that I've betrayed him, he will not stop trying to kill me. He'll kill me, even if he kills himself too!" Tears slide down my cheeks, and I fight the sobs already forcing their way up my throat.

"The only way he'll stop, the only way he won't be able to kill me, is if he dies first." I take a breath, trying to steady my breathing. Wayne stands and crosses the room to my side, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. I try to ignore it, but I just can't. Before he can try and stop me (actually, I'm not really sure he even wants to), I turn and bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his torso. His body stiffens immediately, that I expected. What I didn't expect was for Wayne to wrap his arms around me tightly, giving me this sense that he wouldn't let me go, that he cares. I know it's probably false and/or my imagination, but it feels nice all the same.

But I know it will end. He's some rich, famous, popular guy, and I'm a nut. A damaged nut that no one respects, not even my old goons.

Yeah, I know it will end. But this moment feels nice, so I think I'd like to stay here awhile. Just stay here in this moment, hold onto this feeling of being wanted a little while longer. Allow myself to imagine that it could possibly be something more than my overactive and suspicious imagination.

Yes, this moment is perfect, and for once in my life, I feel infinite.

* * *

 **A/N: I love that I used almost an entire page to talk about Harley being on her period. Heh. "period." heh. It will all make sense soon, promise.**

 **So! I am severely sleep deprived! It is time for me to sleep, and I'll see y'all next month, lol.**

 **But wait tho. There's more.**

 **You guys realize the last time I updated was right after PTX's video for Imagine came out? Now Bohemian Rhapsody and Can't Help Falling In Love have come out too, and I died both times. Then I came back.**

 **Castiel gripped me tight and dragged me down from heaven. Thanks for that, Cas. Really appreciate it.**

 **Now, I must sleep. I've had this steadily-growing-worse headache for days, and I would dearly love to get rid of it. I'm going to start randomly writing poetry if I don't sleep soon. Like, not even kidding. Thanks, English teacher.**

 **Okay, BYE! SLEEEEEEEEEEPP HERE I COMMMMEE**

* * *

 **P.S. from Harley that may also be a sneakpeek, who knows:** Holy Avi Kaplan, I'm really fracking emotional today. What the hell is wrong with me? First I'm yelling and screaming at Bruce Wayne and now he's hugging me while I sob my eyes out? Yeah, that makes total sense! I can see the tabloid headlines if reporters ever got a picture of us right now: _Harley Quinn and Bruce Wayne: Lovers?_

Yeah right, guys. No, this smoking hot billionaire is just a convenient shoulder to cry on, that's all. This is what my crappy not-at-all-to-be-trusted brain is telling me right now, so why don't I believe it?


	6. In which I wonder what even is life

***cautiously creeps out from under rock* ...Hi!...?**

 **How've y'all been? I know it's been awhile since the last chapter, but I had the worst case of writer's block in the world.**

 **Upside, I finally understand why people are raving about Jane the Virgin and The Walking Dead.**

 **Downside, I am a horrible combination of laziness and procrastination, meaning that it took me for-freaking-ever to get this chapter out.**

 **Sorry. I'll try to be better about that in the future.**

* * *

 **Response to Reviews:**

 **GSETHEMAJOR4: Believe me, I'm tryin not to let the story die!**

 **AlbertWesker0: Ship it, my apprentice. Ship it.**

 **Guest(1): Yes, Bruce/Harley! I made that decision somewhere between Chapters 2 and 3. I've always thought the Joker was an abusive ass, even before the Dark Knight movies and even Suicide Squad, back in the cartoon when they actually downplayed it. I thought it was about time someone accurately wrote about their "relationship."**

 **Rouge47: Aiight, Dude. I gotchu. I was afraid in about Chapter 2 that the story was just kind of going to...fizzle out. But then I have reviewers like you who honestly think it's good, and then I regain my confidence.**

 **Agent94: *blushes* Masterpiece? Aw, shucks.**

* * *

 **Enjoy the next chapter, guys!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Suicide Squad, or the lyrics to the kirstin™ songs** _ **All Night**_ **and** _ **Break A Little**_ **, that I use. You should listen to them. For real.**

* * *

Holy Avi Kaplan, I'm really freaking emotional today. What the hell is wrong with me? First I'm yelling and screaming at Bruce Wayne and now he's hugging me while I cry my eyes out? Yeah, that makes total sense! I can see the tabloid headlines if reporters ever got a picture of us right now: _Harley Quinn and Bruce Wayne; Lovers?_

Yeah right, guys. No, this smoking hot billionaire is just a convenient shoulder to cry on, that's all. This is what my crappy not-at-all-to-be-trusted brain is telling me right now, so why don't I believe it?

Gah! It's just gonna have to wait for another time. I've got other things to worry about right now, and while it's the last thing I want to do, I pull away from Wayne. I bring my hand up and wipe any trace of tears away from my face, giving the man a watery smile. "Thanks, for that. I needed it. But I think you said we have other things to talk about?"

After a moment, Wayne nods. He goes back to his chair, but instead of sitting down in it, he brings it back down to my side of the table and sits. I bite my lip and sit nervously. "So, uh, what else?"

Wayne purses his lips, and I instantly know it isn't good. "What? What is it?"

"Ivy."

Oh God. When was the last time I saw her? Months, at the very least. Joker had suddenly seemed very anxious to cut down my time with her to nothing. She had just disappeared all those months ago, and I, under Joker's spell, had either failed to notice or failed to care. Either way, it wasn't good.

"What about her?" I ask, suddenly nervous. "What happened to Ivy?"

Wayne seems unsure about what to say, and I can see that he's trying to choose his words very carefully.

"Just spit it out," I say, staring at him with as calm a manner as I could. I'm actually panicking on the inside, but there is no need for him to know that. "Just tell me what happened to my best friend."

Wayne closes his eyes, then nods. "There are no easy ways to say this, none at all. The Joker, he, um, he took a knife to Ivy's face. He put the blade inside her mouth and carved something." He doesn't look like he wants to continue speaking, as if it might physically make him sick if he continues. But he doesn't need to. I already know what he did to her.

I've heard him ranting about it sometimes. About what he would like to do to the Batman. Carve him a permanent smile; a smile for the ages.

Except, he didn't do it to Batman. He did it to the one other person who would try to take me away from him. He couldn't get to Batman so he did it to Ivy instead. Oh, my poor best friend. All she's ever done is try to protect me, keep safe from him, try to get me away from him. I never listened before, I always went back in the end.

If what he's done to Ivy does not secure my decision to leave him forever, then I don't know what will. I know now. I know what will happen.

I will die before I go back to him.

Never again.

I look Wayne in the eyes, calm and steady. "I want to see her. Where is she?"

"She's in a room, here in the manor." He stands, offering a hand to me. "I'll take you to her."

I take his hand, and he leads me through a doorway on the opposite end of the room and up a small flight of steps.

This part of the mansion seems smaller, somehow. The hallways are narrower and the rooms behind the doors have much less floor space. I think that we must be at the back of the manor now, where no visitors would be without express permission and a very good reason. It's no mystery why Ivy would be back here.

Wayne leads me down a short hall, at the end of which is a single door. Before, the back of the mansion had smelled musty, like an old book that hadn't been opened in years. There is no trace of dust, and I suppose that Alfred had kept the place clean despite the lack of use.

But now I can smell green, if that makes sense. The way that woods that have been unaffected by people smells; pure, unfettered nature. The scent of flowers grows stronger the closer we get to the door, and I can see hints of green leaves stretching out under the door.

This is the way things are around Ivy. We're getting closer, I can literally smell her. I walk faster, my hand slipping out of Wayne's grasp as I step ahead of him. My hand touches the door knob. It is cold to the touch, and I hesitate. I glance at Wayne, suddenly terrified to see my best friend in such a state. He doesn't smile, but I can see the kindness in his eyes.

He'll be here with me. I'm not completely sure why exactly that comforts me, but it does. I turn back to the door and push it open, revealing an unconscious Ivy, surrounded by dozens of growing plants.

I step inside, horrified by what my old puddin has done to my Ivy. Bandages cover her cheeks, a few even slipping inside her mouth. A breathing tube is secured under her nose and goes over her ears, and I can hear the quiet, steady beating of a heart monitor.

I step closer, close enough to see how pale her face is, how her bright, glossy red hair has dulled, and how frail she looks, lying there in that bed. Ivy shouldn't look like this. She's always been so strong, always been my rock when I needed her the most. And now she's...no.

I am going to kill that monster if it's the last thing I do.

I don't realize that my feet have carried me closer until I'm standing right by her side. I gently take her hand, sitting on the bed by her legs, as the chair is being taken up by that kind of plant that you can see growing before your eyes, but which is now growing even faster in Ivy's presence.

"Ivy," I whisper. Her eyes flicker restlessly underneath her lids, and the rate of the plant's growth quickens for just a moment before sliding back into it's already hurried pace. I turn back to Wayne, who is leaning against the door frame with sadness in his usually unreadable eyes. "Will she be okay?" I ask in a choked whisper.

Wayne nodded. "She will, when she's up and around for good. These past few weeks have been hard on her body, and the wounds around her mouth haven't even begun to heal yet. I think that before the Joker...interrogated her, a few of his men had some fun breaking in their boots. I also believe that the delayed healing of the mouth wounds is the result of some sort of chemical that was on the blade."

I nod, then look away before he can see the tears clouding my eyes. "It's a watered down version of the acid he keeps in that flower, the one that real clowns have seltzer water in? That's the stuff he dunks the knife in before he uses it on whatever person he's decided needs to smile a bit more."

I gulp, shift my weight, then begin to pull up my new dress until the hem is at about waist level. I push the strip of underwear up to reveal one of my biggest secrets. Not even Ivy knows about these, and if she did, she's likely kill the Joker before I could even get to him.

Wayne audibly takes in his breath, and it ain't 'cause of the stunning view, folks. Then, even more quietly than before; "It's the same stuff he uses on me, when I've been _bad_."

Wayne approaches me, quickly but quietly, and kneels beside me. His hand hovers above one of the largest burn scars, and his eyes ask me for permission. I nod, and one cool finger gently touches the rough, raised skin. I shudder at the odd sensation, this one much more enjoyable than when the Joker mocked me whenever he saw the wounds he'd created.

Oh, how he'd laughed every time he laid his eyes on my pain. But that's over now.

The strange sensation retreats, and I look back at Wayne. He's still sitting on his heels, both forearms propped on his knees. He stares thoughtfully, and a little angrily, I think, at the places where the Joker marked me for his own.

"He'd put them in places they wouldn't be seen, even with my usual scanty stuff. Underneath underwear, a few under my arms that were very carefully placed. Even..." And I have to pause, because I'm not sure I can keep going much further without bursting into tears again.

Also, I'm slightly uncomfortable. See, a lot of people have indeed seen me mostly naked, but not completely. The marks were very carefully hidden, by either clothes or makeup, and if someone did see them, he was threatened until he didn't.

But this...these ones were so much more personal. Meant to hurt, and meant to stay hurting for a long, long time. As a constant reminder, the most constant constant to ever constant.

"...Even," Oh, God, I'm not gonna be able to get it out. I wrap my arms around myself, holding on tightly because I'm afraid I'm going to break. A gentle hand touched my wrist, and I open my eyes to look Bruce Wayne in his clear blue eyes in surprise.

"It's okay, Harley. You don't have to tell me. I would never expect that from you, especially because you don't know me that well."

I nod, choking back yet more tears. Dear God, what is wrong with me? It's personal, definitely, and the Joker has been apart of my life for so long that I'm not quite sure what to do now that he's out of it. But what he did to me? I shouldn't let it affect me like this. It's in the past, and I can have a new life.

I won't let that go. And speaking of...I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tear to vanish. Not crying, not crying, not crying.

Okay. I open my eyes again, to see Wayne staring at me with slight worry. Again, I take Ivy's hand and squeeze it gently. And again, that feeling of wrongness hits me. She shouldn't be here, not like this.

Finally, I ask the question I have to ask. "So...what's gonna happen to me? Am I gonna be sent back to Arkham?"

There's silence for a moment, except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor. I wonder if he's even going to answer me, but I don't want to look at him to see what's going on. Finally, he speaks.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Harley. Not with the Joker there as well. We know from past experiences that it's quite easy for him to get in contact with you there, and it's not quite so hard to guess what will happen next."

No. No it is not.

He sighs, shifting his position, so I think he's dropped from his heels and onto one knee. "If you don't mind, I think it would be best if you stayed here for the time being. You're welcome to stay as long as you need."

I turn my head quickly to stare at him in shock. His face is straight, and his eyes betray no emotion. "Stay...here?" I try, but I can't keep the incredulity out of my voice, and, I think, my face.

"Of course. You don't mind, do you?"

Mutely, I shake my head. I can't really find words to say. The idea of staying some place where the Joker would not just be biding his time until the moment where he can wrap something around my throat is an incredible relief.

"Thank you," I finally manage. That annoying smile once again crosses his face, but it doesn't disappear this time. It stays there, and it takes me an unforgivably long time to figure out that he's taken my hand. I appreciate the gesture, squeezing gently, and look back toward my sleeping friend.

I really wish she'd wake up.

* * *

It's been several hours since I sat with Ivy. For several hours.

Finally, Wayne insisted that I go back to my room and rest for a little while, I've been through a lot these past few weeks, blah blah, woof woof. Wayne had led me back to my room and departed with another one of those smiles that I wanted to hate but couldn't.

So now, here I am, tossing and turning and thinking stuff at readers, and not sleeping. Which really sucks, you know. Here I am, trying to sleep, and kirstin™'s _All Night_ is blaring inside my head. I'm relating to it, damn it. Which is a little bit the point, I suppose, but why does it have to be so damn catchy?

 _I've been losing sleep lately, the doctor says it's insomnia_

 _They think that I'm going crazy, but I know it's because of ya'_

Just wait for it.

 _We can make love or war, and every time_

 _I want you more, I need it like it's chemical_

 _Can't let you go_

God dammit. And then there's the other one.

' _Cause every time I see your face, I break a little_

 _And every single night you stay, you take a little_

Yeah, I'm not relating to these songs _at all_. Dammit, Kirstin, stop being so awesome. Dammit, life, stop sucking so horribly that I have to relate to music that sounds like it's about Stockholm Syndrome.

Okay, brain, it's time to shut up. I'll just focus on white noise and relax all the muscles in my body, starting with my lower back. Work my way up my spine slowly...

* * *

I jump awake, and don't have time to consider much before the thing that woke me up in the first place hits me again.

Oh my, feel that nausea! Whoo!

I leap out of bed, all but stumbling to the door of the small bathroom to flick on the lights and fling myself onto my knees beside the toilet. I retch into it for a thirty seconds before it stops. I lean against the wall, my whole body shuddering and my mouth tasting as if I'd gotten "Rotten Fish" in a game of BeanBoozled.

My eyes are closed tightly, and inside I'm trying to figure out what made me throw up. I don't think it was something I've eaten, otherwise it would've happened hours ago. I put a hand to my forehead to feel for warmth, but my entire body is clammy after my experience, so I can't really tell.

"Harley!" The urgency and alarm in Wayne's voice scares the living crap out of me, and I jump. I open my eyes to find Wayne kneeling beside me, usually emotionless blue eyes wide with worry.

"I-I'm okay," I whisper. I don't think he believes me. He stands, filling the little cup beside the sink with water and handing it to me. I drink it quickly, water dribbling down my chin, wanting desperately to get the rotting fish taste out of my mouth.

Which actually turned out to be a mistake, as the second the water hits my stomach I have to lean over the toilet again and choke it all back up. Wayne holds my hair back (I'm really startin' to like this guy, folks) until I'm finished, then hands me a piece of toilet paper to wipe my mouth with. I do so, drop it in the toilet, then flush.

I sit still against the wall, hoping not to trigger nausea attack. Wayne presses his hand to my forehead, frowning. "You don't feel warm. Do you know what might have caused this?"

I shake my head. "No. I just woke up feeling nauseous. I-" Disgusted, I stick my tongue out my mouth, making a face. "Half a mo." I move to stand, then Wayne gently helps me to my feet, like quite the gentleman.

I grab the cup from where I'd set it on top of the toilet and take my toothbrush from the cabinet. I have to get this taste out of my mouth, there's no way in hell I'm waiting.

I'm half way through vigorously scrubbing my entire mouth when something occurs to me.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

I almost drop my toothbrush, staring in shock at my reflection in the mirror. And it does not go unnoticed.

"Harley? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Not gonna be sick again, if that's what you're wondering, Brucey.

Slowly, I finish cleaning my mouth out, wrapping my other arm around my stomach, suddenly uneasy.

Shit, shit, shit.

This really is not what I need in life right now.

I rinse my mouth, then slowly and deliberately place my toothbrush in my cup and set it down on the counter. I close the lid of the toilet and sit down on it, now holding my stomach with both arms.

This could not have come at a worse time.

I don't need this.

"Harley?" Wayne is kneeling in front of me again, real concern all over his face and in his eyes. Wow. He's let his mask fall. This guy is #concerned.

It all makes sense now. It probably did before, but this just proves it.

My weird hunger earlier, and the craving, the lack of Aunt Flo for the past few weeks,...the throwing up.

This is a lot worse than a lot of the other punishments the Joker has inflicted on me, one almost has to wonder if it was intentional. The Joker has no wish that I know of to ever inflict his spawn upon the world.

Oh god.

I look Wayne in the eyes, barely able to get the words out. I don't want to say them, because that would mean that this is real.

But I look him in the eyes, and I say it, because I know I must.

"I-I think that maybe...I'm...pregnant?"

* * *

 **A/N: DUNH DUNH DUNH**

 ***dissolves into tears but not for the reason you think***

 ***wails* AVI'S LEAVING PTX**

 **I'm done. Mostly.**

 **Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and again, I apologize for taking so long to get it up. Not only am I a huge procrastinator for this story, I'm also procrastinating writing a side project for an iZombie and Supernatural crossover.**

 **Again, sorry. I'm trying not to let this story die. I have the rest of the story planned out. There's only three chapters left and a looking-like-it's-going-to-be-very-short epilogue, so you guys have that to look forward to.**

 **School will probably start again before I get this finished.**

 **Sorry.**

 **See you next time, though! Bye!**


	7. Na na na na na na na na BATMAN! shit

**A/N: Hi! Again, I'm sorry this took so long. I'm not very good at getting myself to not procrastinate. I was a little scared to write this chapter, I think, because while I have what I want planned out, it's still a lot of stuff, and I'm not sure how I want the rest of it to go down.**

 **It's a lot that I'm planning on trying to stuff into four chapters.**

 **Yikes.**

 **Also, every time I started to write this chapter, I realized it wasn't really Harley's voice. More like mine. Way too sane. So then I just focused on trying to get back into Harley's mind. I still feel like she's a little off in this chapter, but I decided to just stop fussing with it and finally post.**

 **Double yikes.**

 **Anyway, school has started. So that's fun. Last year, I had a lot of free time in my classes to do what I wanted. This year...not so much. *frustration* It's hard being a Junior.**

 **I'll stop taking up your time...**

 **I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad or any of the characters within.**

 **Warnings as I feel like I keep forgetting this: bad language**

* * *

 _ **Last chapter...**_

 _It all makes sense now. It probably did before, but this just proves it._

 _My weird hunger earlier, and the craving, the lack of Aunt Flo for the past few weeks...the throwing up._

 _This is a lot worse than a lot of the other punishments the Joker has inflicted on me, one almost has to wonder if it was intentional. The Joker has no wish that I know of to ever inflict his spawn upon the world._

 _Oh god._

 _I look Wayne in the eyes, barely able to get the words out. I don't want to say them, because that would mean that this is real._

 _But I look him in the eyes, and I say it, because I know I must._

" _I-I think that maybe...I'm...pregnant?"_

* * *

 _ **Two months later-Arkham Asylum**_

In Arkham Asylum, the Joker was never alone. He was constantly surrounded by goons of his own making or fawning crooks who wished to know the secrets to success.

To be frank, it was a little irritating. The Joker could never just have that bit of alone time that he'd even sometimes had acheived in previous visits to the facility. Mainly, those bits of alone time had been because of... _her_.

Mista J refused to even think her name, let alone say it aloud. The girl had been nuts, but useful. She had successfully kept away the other inhabitants of Arkham with threats of physical violence, via her overly-large mallet. Any prisoner with any sort of sense knew not to get in Har- _her_ way or disobey _her_ rules.

But now that she was gone, the Joker was always in danger of falling off his rocker. Well, he supposed, that had already happened. Maybe just going into a seizure after the fall. Petty criminals asked for advice, or even worse, _autographs_.

It was disgusting, and the Joker came to wonder when Arkham had started welcoming common crooks as well as the certifiably insane. After all, that _was_ the reason he was here, right?

Anyway, it didn't matter. As soon as the Joker figured out a way to escape from Arkham this time, he would find the bitch and burn her alive. She was the reason he was in here again, after all. She was _supposed_ to help keep him _out_ , for fuck's sake!

The loony cunt would get hers, and Mista J would make sure of it! As soon as he got out...

Speaking of...

Every time another inmate escaped, the bosses in control of Arkham Asylum commissioned builders to fix the damage (usually from a bomb or riot of some sort) and make sure that the building was secure and no one could escape.

But there was always another way out. The problem with Gotham city was that _everyone_ was corrupt. Almost everyone was someone's bitch, until you reached the top of the chain.

Usually the people calling the shots wanted the chaos and havoc that the villains of Gotham could bring about with the twitch of a pinky finger and a paper clip. That meant that the person in control of Arkham's construction crew wanted the best out, if that made sense.

In this case, Alex Rosewater was the president of the corporation controlling Arkham Asylum. Alex Rosewater usually commanded the leader of his crew to leave something behind for only the cleverest of evil-doers to find, something to help them escape.

It was almost always either the Joker, the Riddler, Hugo Strange, or Two-Face who discovered the current way out. Occasionally, it was the small time kids who found it, and usually by accident.

The Joker shuddered. There had been a time when Calendar Man found the way out, and the result had been catastrophic, even to his standards. The key to keep on living was never letting something like that happen ever again.

The current problem was finding that way out without letting the guards know it. The frustrating thing about Arkham Asylum? Most of the guards weren't crooks.

The Joker snorted into his beef stew. The idea of an uncrooked cop or rent-a-cop _these_ days, in _this_ town? It was laughable. But apparently, all the clean ones had found their way to Arkham Asylum, which made the task of escaping much harder than it actually had to be.

So, then. Usually, there were clues that Rosewater's men secretly hid around the previous escape. So, all the Joker had to do was casually take a look around the Warden's office. That time, there had been a bulletproof window who's screw had been loosened. All one had to do was jump right into it, and slide down the rocky slope three stories beneath the window.

Hey, Rosewater's escape plans weren't for the faint of heart.

The Joker frowned. He could easily convince one of the other prisoners to help him out in exchange for his own escape. The only problem was-

His thoughts were interrupted when a paper-thin man with thick-rimmed spectacles sat down across the table from him. He automatically glared at the riddling fool, who preceded to wipe his glasses as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"You're already thinking of the way out, aren't ya, Joker?" A thin smile wrapped across the Riddler's face. "I can see it in your eyes, you know. You're a very open book when you're pissed."

"What, no riddles to make me despise you further?" The Joker spat, dropping his spoon back into its bowl.

The thin man slid his glasses back onto his face with an amused gleam in his eye. "Oh, no. I want out as well, and I've decided that riddling you would not make you want my help."

"You're right about that, fool," the Joker muttered, never taking his eyes from his table-mate. One never knew what the minor crazies were thinking inside their muddled up noggins.

"I am, aren't I? Anyway, I have some information for you. Something I thought you'd be interested in." The Joker tried not to look even vaguely interested, but supposed he must have failed when the Riddler gave him a small mocking smile.

"It's about Miss Quinn, the only information you'd truly want at this point, I believe."

For some very, _very_ odd reason, the Joker's ceramic bowl of beef stew suddenly found itself shattered on the floor, with contents probably not even consisting of beef spreading across the floor.

On the table was the Joker's hand, suddenly finding itself clenched into a fist. His knuckles hadn't even caused a dent on the hard oak surface, so in addition to his pumping blood, he could feel a dull throbbing emanating from his bleeding metacarpals.

" _Don't_ ," the Joker said through clenched teeth. " _Say her name."_

The Riddler held up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. I can do that." He smiled again, fake, mocking sympathy seeping through every action, every word. "The former object of your, er, _affections_ was seen by a contact of mine."

The Joker stared at the Riddler dubiously. "Is _that_ actually supposed to interest me?"

The Riddler grinned, lacing his fingers beneath his chin. "That's not it, though. She was seen with Bruce Wayne, you know, that _dashing,_ debonaire young billionaire that sent you back here."

"Save your flirting for that ludicrous bird-obsessed boyfriend of yours," the Joker snarled. "What the fuck is that whore doing with Wayne?"

A cold though tolerant smile smoothed across the Riddler's face. "I would think it's quite obvious what Miss Quinn's doing with the handsome Mr Wayne, especially when you know that they were seen at a maternity clinic."

"WHAT?" The Joker roared, all but lunging across the table at the Riddler.

The other man remained infuriatingly calm, which just angered the Joker further. "You heard me, _Mista J_. Ma-ter-nit-y cli-nic," he spoke slowly, as if to a child.

The clown's hand flew to the Riddler's throat, squeezing tightly.

"You feel that, Edward?" Joker snarled in Nygma's ear. He squeezed tighter. "That's your body fighting to live. Right about now, your vision is going dark, and my voice sounds as if it coming through a tunnel."

No longer cool and collected, the Riddler gasped for air and clawed at the Joker's bleached hands. "The cells in your brain are shutting down, and your movements are growing sluggish." Joker released Nygma, and the oxygen-deprived prisoner flopped to the ground, clasping at his throat in a weak attempt to protect it from further harm.

"Taunt me again, say _her_ name again, and I promise you that the next time? The effect will be permanent." The Joker spun, returning to his seat at the table, picked up his bowl, and began eating what was left.

"Now then," he said cheerfully, as if he hadn't just almost murdered a man. "How shall we go about escaping this time, huh?"

* * *

These past two months have passed a lot quicker than I thought they would. Everyone always talked about how time seemed to go slower when you're worried about something, but for me, it seems to be the opposite.

I find that I hate that more than a little. I feel like I haven't had time to process what's happening to me, but this growing bump where my stomach used to be doesn't leave much time to figure it all out. It's still very small, hardly noticable to anyone who isn't looking.

But I notice. And every time I see myself in the mirror, it's all I can do not to have a meltdown on the spot. I feel like the only thing that's keeping me sane (ha) right now is focusing on Ivy.

Oh, yeah! I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Ivy's finally awake! It took her for _freakin'_ ever, didn't it? It was just a couple days after the ending of the last chapter, and I feel like I just felt all of my unhappiness float away!

Which was really great for a moment, until I had to tell Ivy what had happened. Boy, was she upset! I swear, the number of death threats I've heard her level at the Joker in the past week alone would be enough for any jury to convict for attempted murder.

At least, that's the way it would happen in _Bones_ or something. Probably not in real life, though.

Anyway, the minute Ivy heard what Mista J had done to me, it was all Bruce and me could do to keep her in that bed. I think Butler Man was on the verge of cuffing her to the railing, which I feel like Ivy would have enjoyed _way_ too much under her current medicated fog.

Really, I've never seen Ivy _horny_ before. It's just weird. I honestly thought she was plant-sexual or something, but maybe it's just the meds.

I said anyway before, didn't I? I have a lot of anyways, and yet I'm going to end up never getting to my point.

Shit. I don't remember what my point is anymore. Hold on...

Oh yeah! (This is how the Ivy tangent got started if you remember.)

Right, I hate the fact that I'm carrying...ugh. The Joker's _kid_. I suppose it's not the kid's fault where it comes from, right? I mean it's not like it was given a choice. It was forcefully brought into the world, like it was forcefully forced on me!

I've stopped making any kind of sense. I apologize.

Maybe I should get to current events, eh?

In the two months it's been since my little discovery, aside from Ivy waking up, Bruce has been helping me make preparations. First thing was first, of course, find some trustworthy doctor who wouldn't spill their guts to the press about me. And the fact that Bruce Wayne had brought me.

The whole thing is just one big pile of awkward, awkward, and more awkward. I'm not completely sure why, but that's what it feel like to me. Awkward. Is this a pregnancy thing?

Le sigh. I'm still not completely sure what's going on, or what's going to happen. Bruce is insisting that I'm welcome to stay at his place for as long as I need to, and he's slowly starting to convince me.

Last night was more than helpful. Ooh, it was very... _persuasive._

Well, aside from taking me to that maternity clinic to get checked out, Bruce has helped me check out books and classes necessary for childcare, and the more I look into it, the more I'm startin' to think I'm just not ready for this.

It's all so much responsibility, and I don't know if y'all have noticed, but I'm not exactly the most responsible person in the world. Nor trustworthy. Nor...well, a bunch of things.

Perhaps I should get the ball rollin', huh? So maybe you guys can actually get to readin' some actual content that isn't just what's probably inside my Secret Diary of a Crazy Girl.

Right, then! Manor, and Ivy is awake!

Which is what I'm doin' right now. Wait, no. Where I'm goin'. Yeah, that sounds right.

I'm goin' to visit Ivy in her room. She's more than capable of moving around at this point, she just chooses not to. She's more interested in regrowing all those plants she lost back at her home.

Which is why as I approach her door, all I can smell is leafy goodness. I pause outside it, touching my hand to the hard wood of the door. Even though I know the mahogany is long dead, it thrums with life underneath my palm.

As I push the door open, I wonder if that's why I was sort of attracted to Ivy, in more ways than one. With the Joker, everything is all about death. I was always constantly surrounded by it. With Ivy, everything is alive, even if it's long dead.

I smile at that thought, then smile again at Ivy, who is sitting cross-legged in the middle of her floor. I sit across from her, and a small half smile appears on her ruined, beautiful face.

"How are ya, darlin?" I ask, putting a hand on her knee. She opens her eyes and smiles. "Better, now. It's been two months, you know. There's hardly any pain left."

"Uh-huh," I snort. I touch my fingers to her cheek, and Ivy winces. "I don't believe that.

She adopts a sort of defensive position. "Well, it's not like I'm that bad off! This would will heal, even if it leaves scars! Yours..." Ivy falls silent.

I raise my eyebrows. "Yes...?"

"You know what I mean," she mumbles, rubbing her temples. "What you've been forced to go through? It should never have to happen to anyone, _ever_. And now you're left with the consequences that _he_ forced on you."

I smile bitterly. "I had realized. I take it you still think I should get that abortion, huh?"

Ivy's eyes hardened. "Yes, I do. You shouldn't be forced to live with the Joker's douchery." I take her hand, smiling gently. "No, Ivy, you know I can't do that. This kid has done absolutely nothin to deseve death, nothin to deserve not being given a chance to live."

I sigh, tracing lines in her palm absently. "I don't think I would be able to live with myself, Ivy, if I took away someone's life before they could live it."

"But it's the Joker's!" Ivy protested. I know she'll likely never understand my decision to have this kid. She knows how uncertain I am about all of this, and doesn't understand why I won't just get rid of the problem.

"It's also mine," I remind her. "And no, he wasn't coneived willingly. But...I want to give him a good life."

Ivy sighed, smiling. "And that's what I love about you. I do wish you happiness, love, even if I don't understand the path you've chosen."

We're both silent for a moment, and it takes just about that amount of time to remember what I've come to tell her.

"Oh!" I perk up almost immediately. "You know that dinner Bruce asked me to last night?"

Oh, right. You guys know that sound of a record scratching to a stop when a character reveals something shocking in a tv show? Yeah, remember that sound for a just a moment before you go on to the next paragraph.

Alright. So, you remember that sentence twenty-four indents ago? The one about last night being especially persuasive? So there's a thing about that. Um, how do I say this? I suppose it doesn't really matter, but I care for _some_ damn reason.

So, I guess I think I've kinda been fallin' for Bruce Wayne.

Hmm, shocking, I know. And the weird thing is, I think he was fallin' for me too.

Actually, I know he was. If he wasn't fallin' for me in some way, last night _definitely_ wouldn't have happened. I would giggle, but I don't know how to do that in writing without sounding creepy.

I giggle, and Ivy smirks. "Is this going where I think it's going, because I'm _fascinated_."

"Well if you think it ends in his bed, you're correct."

"HALLELUJAH!" Ivy whoops, and I almost fall over laughing.

Ah, it really _had_ been a lovely evening. I don't think either one of us ever planned to even have so much as a candlelit dinner, and then suddenly there we were...in bed.

Wow.

Honestly, even while I'm talkin' about this with Ivy, even while I'm tellin' you guys about this, I suppose it hasn't even really sunk in yet. The thing that happened last night, I mean.

All the other stuff has had sufficient time to sink in, for the most part. Mista J is really is pure evil, I'm pregnant, and my life will never be the same again. In addition to being a goody two-shoes now, I've got to worry about raisin' a kid!

I mean, I suppose y'all remember that scene from the movie where the witch lady gave us all those perfect little visions of our dream lives to distract us? I think that in that life, I was ready. I thought I was ready because I thought I loved Mista J, and now I don't.

Everythin' is confusin', and within a single moment, my life has gone off the reservation. Even further off the reservation, I mean.

Every single line from before is blurred, and while the world wasn't all black and white before, it certainly wasn't all gay rainbows. The only things that seem certain are Ivy, and, well, Bruce.

In the past two months alone, the man has given me more security than I ever had with Mista J, and he had body guards all around all over the place.

Honestly, I'm still wonderin' what's gonna happen next. Aside from feelin' like a minivan is driving through my vagina in five months, I really don't know what to do.

And now I should point out that I've been sharin' my thoughts with Ivy while I shared my thoughts with you all, so we can skip the dialogue and get straight to Ivy's very wise advice.

"I think you should just go talk to him, hon," she says simply, playing with our fingers.

Yes, m-hmm, very wise. Like I said.

"Is that really it, Ivy?" I complain. "Well‽ What do I say‽ What do I do‽ How do I act‽"

Ivy chuckles, watching my almost panicked expression. "What would you normally do, Harl?"

"Uh, steal a car or somethin'! I've never liked anyone not crazy before, Ivy! I don't know what to do!"

"Just talk to him," Ivy says soothingly. "Let the conversation flow naturally, and everything will be alright."

I nod, trying desperately to calm myself down. Finally I stand and open the door. I pause to look back at Ivy. "It's just...ya know I don't know how to do any of that, right?"

Ivy laughs again, and all the plants in her room grow an inch or two in a few seconds, seeming to glow with life. "Go!" She encourages me, and I smile at her before leaving her room.

Walking down the hallway, I try hard not to plan the conversation between me and Bruce. Ivy had said to let it flow naturally was the best course of action. Still, there's nothin' wrong with an introductory statement, is there?

In my two months here, I've learned both the narrow and wide halls of Wayne Manor a lot faster than I thought I would. It's easy to find where I want to go, and right now I want to go to the sittin' room, where Bruce is most likely to be this time of day.

I'm about to walk through the doorway into the sittin' room when I hear a noise inside. I immediately freeze and tense, wonderin' if maybe some burglar managed to find a way inside. But surely not! There are too many cameras on the walls and gates, and if someone tried to break in, Alfred and Bruce would know!

Slowly and quietly, like Mista J taught me for emergency stealth jobs, I peek around the corner into the room. My eyes widen, and I watch Bruce move to stand next to the piano.

He lifts the lamp from its place above the sheet music with one hand, while the other plays a small tune, like the musical password from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

I narrow my eyes as Bruce touches the place where the lamp sat a moment before, and the grandfather clock on the opposite wall slowly began to move out of position. What the what...?

The lamp is put back into its place, like nothin' ever happened, and Bruce proceeds down into the small tunnel the grandfather clock has revealed. Quickly, I make my way to the grandfather clock, and slip in before it has a chance to close for good.

The passage carries sound well, and echos a lot. I have to be careful...

I slide off my slippers, deciding my bare feet will make less sound on the wet, stone stairs than house shoes that make a clopping sound every time they meet the ground.

And again, slowly, I make my way down the stairs, clinging to my slippers while my hand traces down the moist wall, wonderin' what the hell is goin' on.

There's light, now. I can see bright industrial lights glowing at the bottom, and I slow down even more. I want to see whats goin' on, and it would be just my luck if Bruce caught me now. Slowly, slowly, I step out of the tunnel, and my jaw drops immediately.

We're in a large cave that brightly lit, with dozens of small tunnels leading in different directions. Off to the left, I can see what appears to be a main road, leading south out of the house. To the right is what looks like a showroom, which is what makes my jaw drop even further.

I step among the glass cases, staring in wonder at the trophies that are stowed here. In one case, what appears to be Two-Face's original double-sided coin is preserved carefully on a small plastic platform.

In another, a dangerous-looking umbrella is held open, though it has been relieved of anythin' dangerous.

There are dozens of these treasures, stolen from the multiple gang lords of Gotham City. There's only one thing missin'...

Somethin' colorful flashes in the upper part of my vision, and I look up. I stifle a gasp, placin' my hand over my mouth and backin' away quickly. A large poker card is suspended in the air, malevolently keepin' watch over a cave that has officially given me the creeps.

It's the Joker card.

I turn away quickly, desperate to my stare and thoughts to anywhere else in this curious place.

From the stairs, I couldn't see it before, but now I can. Around the corner to the left are large computer monitors, suspended above a very complicated-lookin' desk. I step toward it, eager to get away from the baleful glare of the Joker.

I run my fingers along the smooth keys, staring curiously up at the screen, and anythin' else that might help me to understand what this place is.

"Curiouser and curiouser," I murmur, pressing gently on two or three keys.

Which apparently are keyed to a specific purpose, as somethin' behind me starts movin' and steamin', and I turn quickly to watch as a car is robotically driven out through a set of what look like metal garage doors.

The steam rises slowly, and I squint my eyes and ste forward, itchin' to get a look at the car.

"Harley‽"

I whip around to face Bruce, who stares at me and the scene behind me in shock. "H-hey, Bruce!" I say, attempting to put an innocent look on my face. Though what for, I'm not sure.

"You shouldn't be-" He starts, but I cut him off.

"Down here, I know. I just...I saw ya come down here, and I was really curious. I just wanted to see what was happenin' down here, and-" I turn to gesture toward the car I haven't seen yet, but stop mid sentence instead.

...the Bat's ride?

* * *

 _ **One month ago...**_

 _We take a step into my room, and all I want to do is collapse on my bed. It's been a long day, and I've done nothin' but stress, stress, and stress some more._

 _Bruce stands beside me, gently holding my arm. I never said anything, but he seemed to understand anyway. I appreciate the closeness to another human being he's given me these past few worrisome hours._

 _Today, we went to a maternity clinic. My doctor, Doctor Kirstin Maldonado, pulled out a machine, rubbed some cold stuff onto my growing belly, and showed me pictures of my baby, and told me how far along it is._

 _I still can't tell whether I love it or hate it, but Bruce was right beside me the entire time. He's done more for me this past month than anyone ever has, and it's a little distressing, to be honest._

 _I keep expecting that he'll ask for somethin' back at some point, like some sort of equivalent exchange. But he nevers does, and I begin to like all the better._

 _Back to now, he releases my arm, and I head straight to the bed and fall flat on my face. He crouches beside me, and I turn my face to look at him._

" _How do you feel?" He asked softly._

" _A little sick, I guess," I mumble into my pillow. He smiles slightly, then straighten. "How about I get you a little feel-better food then, huh?"_

 _I nod. "That sounds nice." He leaves the room, and I stay still for a moment before sitting up, then moving into the adjoining bathroom._

 _I stare at my reflection, and all the negative emotions I've been fightin' for the past few weeks suddenly flood to the surface, and I bend over the sink, letting a short, anguished howl escape my throat._

 _I grip the edges, suddenly fightin' to keep my balance, and somehow, fightin' to keep my life straight._

 _I stare back into my own eyes in the mirror, feeling all the hate and revulsion I felt when I first figured out what's wrong with me. This_ thing _inside of me is taking my life, and it's all I can do not to let out a full volume scream._

 _I want it out, God, do I want it out_

 _I feel like the world is crowding in on me, and I can hear the voices of everyone I don't want to hear right now AND THEY'RE INSIDE MY FUCKING HEAD_

 _I clutch my head, falling back into the toilet seat and rocking with a silent shriek._

 _I WANT IT OUT_

" _You know you wanted this, my little whore," the Joker chuckles balefully in my head, though it sounds as if he's talking in my ear. "You wanted us to have a wittle family-wamily, didn't ya?" He lets loose with his bone-chilling, screaming laugh, and a shudder works its way up my nerves._

 _GET IT OUT_

 _The voice changes, and miraculously, it's Harleen. I'd thought she was gone, though I was happy to hear her again. Maybe she could drive away this insanity._

 _OUT_

" _Hello, Harley," she says, nicely enough. "I'm sorry for what's happened to you. It's not a fate that anyone wants." So far, so good..._

 _Then; "But you know this is your fault, right? If you had just behaved when Mista J told you to, you wouldn't_ be _in the position! Ivy wouldn't be injured, you wouldn't be playing cat and mouse with Bruce fucking Wayne, and you wouldn't be FUCKING PREGNANT!"_

 _Shit, that's not Harleen._

 _FUCKING HELL GET IT OUT_

" _HARLEY!" A panicked cry and the sound of shattering porcelain brings me back to reality, and it's all I can do not to scream. There's blood on my hands and underneath my fingernails, and my stomach is screaming in pain. I'm crying, and a solid, warm body is holding me close._

 _I sob into the ridiculous blue knit sweater, the kind billionaires weren't supposed to own because they're so rich._

" _It's okay, Harley, you're okay. I'm right here, you'll be alright..." He just keeps repeating those words, though I'm not sure if it was for my benefit or his._

* * *

It's _him._

I stare at Bruce, confusion the only emotion I can find in my head right now. "You're...the Batman?" That doesn't seem to fit, it doesn't track.

His dark blue eyes stare at me, worry evident. "Yes."

"Why...why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't the right time."

Confusion is fading to anger, and it is violent. Far more violent than any other anger I have ever felt in my life. He lied to me.

"You lied to me," I murmur, breathlessly at first.

"Harley, please, I promise I was going to-"

"You _lied_ to me!" I shriek, and all reason goes out of my head. "You were supposed to be _different_."

I want to get up in his face, I want to hit him and kick him and punch him. I want to pick up my first mallet from his little museum and smash him in the face with it.

All of my anger, and I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do, period.

I stalk past him, hoping to escape before we can go further. I am not sure how much longer I can restrain myself.

Thankfully, he has the sense not to grab my arm or some shit.

I'm at the bottom of the tunnel stairs when he speaks. "Harley...please."

I spin around, a snarl painted on my face. "I _trusted_ you! You were supposed to be _better_."

And then I turn and flee up the stairs before he can say anything else.

No one needs to know that I'm crying as well.


	8. Thangs start to get REAL crazy

**A/N: So, uh, sorry I was gone for so long! Please don't kill me! *shields face* I got sidetracked for a while with writing for other fandoms (AKA, Fullmetal Alchemist), and, quite honestly, I kinda lost interest in this.**

 **But now I'm back on the job! Don't worry, I WILL DEFINITELY finish the story! Only two more chapters after this one, and then we're done! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Answers to reviews:**

 **AlbertWesker0:** **I'm not really supposed to tell you this, but *throws head back like the seagull meme* *in a whisper* they do!**

 **GSETHEMAJOR4:** **Bruce is all kinds of smooth, except when it comes to dealing with, "Whoops, I forgot to tell you I'm Batman." lol**

 **Guest(1):** **I'm loving this Bruce and Harley thing too. Sometimes I love it so much I forget to make the characters as in character as possible. Glad you like it!**

 **5SecsOfLARRYcat:** **I'm glad you love it! I promise I'm doing the best I can to update, and I'll get chapter 9 up as soon as is possible!**

 **Rouge47:** **Yeah, Harley's got it rough, huh? Sometimes I wanna be like GET OVER IT, and then I remember that she's pregnant with pregnancy hormones and yeah. And Bruce won't ever give up on Harley!**

 **Agent94:** **Real punny,** _ **bud**_ **, real punny. And I think you'll have to read to find out... lol**

 **Enjoy the chapter, guys!**

* * *

 _ **Last Chapter...**_

 _I stare at Bruce, confusion the only emotion I can find in my head right now. "You're...the Batman?" That doesn't seem to fit, it doesn't track._

 _His dark blue eyes stare at me, worry evident. "Yes."_

" _Why...why didn't you tell me?"_

" _It wasn't the right time."_

 _Confusion is fading to anger, and it is violent. Far more violent than any other anger I have ever felt in my life. He lied to me._

" _You lied to me," I murmur, breathlessly at first._

" _Harley, please, I promise I was going to-"_

" _You lied to me!" I shriek, and all reason goes out of my head. "You were supposed to be different."_

 _I want to get up in his face, I want to hit him and kick him and punch him. I want to pick up my first mallet from his little museum and smash him in the face with it._

 _All of my anger, and I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do, period._

 _I stalk past him, hoping to escape before we can go further. I am not sure how much longer I can restrain myself._

 _Thankfully, he has the sense not to grab my arm or some shit._

 _I'm at the bottom of the tunnel stairs when he speaks. "Harley...please."_

 _I spin around, a snarl painted on my face. "I_ trusted _you! You were supposed to be_ better _."_

 _And then I turn and flee up the stairs before he can say anything else._

 _No one needs to know that I'm crying as well._

* * *

 _ **Three Months Later...**_

I stare blankly at the hard bump that used to be my stomach, wonderin' where on earth the time has gone. Three months... and I was five months along when I found out about, well, you know. That means I've only got about another month before I give birth, if that. I've been readin' a lotta baby/giving birth-related stuff lately, and really, it's quite suprisin' how early a woman can give birth.

Now if only... No. I can't go there. I haven't gone _there_ for three months,

Three months. Three months, and I'm still in this house. There wasn't really another place I could've gone, and if I had left, it would have been like begging the Joker to come after me. So here I stayed.

So I've just been avoidin' him like he's freakin' Hester Prynne with her scarlet letter and I'm a bride who needs some embroiderment done on a veil for my wedding dress, or, for people who don't know what the hell I'm talkin' about, like he has the Black Plague. Yeah, that works.

I wanted so badly to go somewhere else, be anywhere but in this stupid mansion that houses a lie. And, of course, I couldn't do that. Plus, Ivy still needed me.

Or I needed her, but who needs specifics?

And we haven't even gotten into how I feel about Br- _his_ secret yet, have we? Well, it's not like it matters.

Except it does.

I've tried so hard for the past few months to convince myself that I just don't care. I want to believe that I just don't care about his lie, about who he truly is when the sun has set. About how sweet he was to me the entire time I've been here, and how, even behind the mask and before I knew him as Bruce, he seemed reluctant to hurt me. I want to believe that I just don't care, but I don't know if I can. Who knows what he has whispered to the cold dark, when the world seemed to abandon him.

Even through this lie, I can't find it in myself to hate him. I just can't. Try as hard as I might, it's too hard. But I can't love him as I did before. It seems clear to me, and Ivy, that I really did love him. That I still do. But it's not the same, not now. I may have stayed it this house, but he did too. Whenever we see each other in the halls, it's awkward, awkward, awkward. And I can see it in his eyes, how he still loves me. How much he hates himself for having to lie to me.

Those blue, blue eyes, that, behind the mask are so cold and distant, yet warm and lively when you can see his face. I miss seeing them. Now, it always seems as though we're standing miles away, even when we're only ten feet apart.

I hate this, and I miss him. It's hard to admit, even to Ivy, but I miss him.

God, how I miss him.

* * *

God, how the Joker missed her.

Or thought he did. He only really missed her when he can't get the necessary amount of alone time at Arkham, and she isn't there to scare off the idiots.

And how much he wanted her. Being cooped up in prison with no girlfriend just crazy enough to screw you was difficult, especially when there were so few women as crazy as she is.

Was.

Joker bared his teeth in a feral grin. He had no doubt that in the five months the whore had been with Wayne, she had saned up a little. Which was just fine by him. He would just have to fuck her up again, and he'd make _damn_ sure he had more fun with her this time around. He would just have to be careful of the kid. No hurting the kid.

Well, not until it was born. If the whore was still alive after Joker was done with her _and_ she had given birth, then she would watch the little life-sucker have its life drained away. Slowly.

If she wasn't, well, the Joker was eventually gonna need an heir. He couldn't just leave this city without a joke left behind for the rest of the citizens. He laughed at the thought. Imagine; him, toting around a kid. The thought was laughable.

Perhaps the whore should live then. She'd take care of the kid until it was old enough, then the Joker could kill her, then he could have his heir!

He laughed at his own ingenuity. He really was a genius!

He was still enraptured by daydreams of watching the kid ravage Gotham in his stead, giggling loudly, when there was a soft knock at the door. The Joker sat up immediately, watching the peep hole intently.

"Why _is_ a raven like a writing desk?"

Joker glared. "Riddling fool. Are we leaving or not?"

A sigh. "I sup _pose_. Why can't I bring Penguin?"

"Because I don't need you two fucking while I make my ingenious escape, and I'd like to keep our little _party_ as small as possible. You know we'll never escape if we're noticeable."

"Makes sense, I suppose." There was a jingling at the door. "But I'm never gonna get laid again. I hope you're proud of yourself."

The door swung open, and the Joker seized the Riddler's throat. "I don't think you'll need to worry about your sex life, Eddie." He swung the taller man roughly through the cell door, making sure his head cracked satisfyingly against the floor. Good. He would be out for a while, then.

Quietly, the Joker snuck through the dark of Arkham Asylum, deftly avoiding security cameras and guards alike. He wouldn't have minded taking out a few of them, honestly, but he wanted to escape detection. Joker didn't want anyone to know he was gone until he was at Wayne's house with a knife to the whore's throat.

He stood at the top of the garbage shoot. The incinerator was only lit every other Tuesday, so he had a good sporting chance at surviving. If it was even lit at night, which was really the question. Either way.

The Joker grinned, slipping his feet into the top of the shoot. "I'm coming for you, bitch," he whispered, then laughed maniacally to himself in his head before sliding down the shoot.

* * *

I awake with a gasp, suddenly and completely, and drenched in sweat. I don't even know what's woken me up, and I can't remember what I was dreaming about. I lay there, in my bed, trying desperately to reclaim my breath and go back to sleep. But it won't come.

Believin' that the best way to fall asleep is to quit trying, I open my eyes and shift from my side to my back. I stare up at the ceiling, tracing the designs I can barely see in the dark, and wonder.

Not about anythin' in particular. I just wonder. Either my mind is filled with many things, or it goes completely blank. I can never tell. Not since I started dreamin' again.

I didn't used to dream, you know. Not since I met the Joker. It wasn't even the electrical trauma he delivered to my head that did it, it was just _meetin'_ him. That's how poisonous he was. I remember that, as a psychologist, I was worried about my sudden lack of dreams. I knew that wasn't good, or even healthy. I still don't even really know why I suddenly stopped, other than it had something to do with the Joker.

Now that I do dream, they're often nonsense, or meaningless. They're so vivid, they kind of scare me a little. I almost never remember them when I awake, but they're there. Haunting me, at the edge of my thoughts.

In fact, I can feel the dream I just had on the very outskirts. I can't make it come. I clear my head, trying to access the memory of what my mind is tryin' to tell me. And then it hits me.

" _Sorry. I- I just." I stop. "He's really gone, isn't he? He isn't coming back for me?" I look away, biting back tears._

" _Yeah, Harley. He isn't coming back."_

" _I thought so. I was just making sure." I look up at the Bat. Geez. He's gotta be two feet taller than me!_

" _I won't go back to him, you know. Even if he does come back, for whatever reason, or even if it's just an accident, I won't go back to him. I promise." I was startled to realize he was smiling softly, if sadly._

" _What? Bat-sy, are you smiling? Why?" I was too surprised for much else. In my entire career of vexing this man, I have never seen him smile. Much less at me. "Why are you smiling?"_

 _He looks at me. "You don't remember, do you? Every time he leaves, you say that. Every time you believe he's gone for good, he comes back. And you go with him. Believing it won't end this way. Every time I hand you over to the police, you tell me "I won't go back to him", and every single time, you go back. The same way you will this time."_

 _I think this over. I think I remember this. But not really. It's all foggy. Even so. "This time I mean it," I tell him firmly. "I won't go back to being Harleen Quinzel, but I won't go back to him either."_

 _I walk around him and flounce up to the nearest guard. "Howdy, boys! How about we get this show on the road!" I turn and wave at the Bat. "Bye-Bye Batsy!"_

 _And before the police takes me away, I can see him looking at me. He looks so sad, and there is such pain in those pretty blue eyes of his. Why does he look so sad?_

I open my eyes, cryin', Bruce's sadness suddenly my own. I can remember it now, some of those times I told him I wouldn't go back to the Joker, only to betray my promise practically the very next day. The Joker _is_ poisonous, he _is_ lethal. How could my stupid brain not see it before?

And how many times did he watch me walk away from him, knowing I wouldn't be able to keep my promise?

The tears come faster now, and I can't suppress them. I lay my arm across my face, trying to desperately to wipe away tears that won't leave. There is now this thought inside my head, a thought that won't leave unless I pay some sort of attention to it.

 _He's loved me this entire time._

And I don't want it, this haunting, intruding thought. Because then I will want to forgive him, and by God, I want to stay angry at him.

 _He loves me._

I wish I could stay angry at him. But I feel it all draining away.

 _And I love him._

Slowly, I get up out of my bed, cursing my lack of agility. Stupid lack-of-a-stomach. I stumble toward the door, still not sure of the layout of my room even after all these months. I place my hand against the wall for balance, and I feel my way out of my room. And I walk toward his with utter surety, because I know the way _there_ like the back of my hand.

How many times have I found myself outside his room, wanting to talk to him but not daring to? Too many to count, is how many.

But it's time. It's time to talk to him now, because the time for this stupid one-sided argument of mine is well past over. I need to apologize.

As my steps widen, and my stride quickens, a shadow passes over my mind almost without my noticing. But I do notice it. Something is wrong. It feels too much like something from the past, something that _should_ be locked away in Arkham right at this moment. It feels like _him_.

Panic sets in, though I know this feeling is probably just my imagination. But I'm too afraid, and my common sense refuses to try and convince my brain that nothing is wrong. And still, the fear remains. I walk as fast as a possibly can, though waddle is probably a more accurate description.

And I'm there. I pause outside his door, and suddenly it occurs to me that he might not even be here. It _is_ night, after all, and that is when the Batman is most active. But something tells me here, and it is the same instinct that tells me something is wrong. Something is wrong _here_.

I open the door, blinking in the dark of Bruce's bedroom, trying desperately to see him. At least, that's what I thought I'd do.

Instead, I am blinkin' in the sudden, bright light of the room, squintin' to see him. And my instinct is proved correct. Because there Bruce lies, eyes wide open, and, somehow, glassy. It only takes a moment for my eyes to be attracted to the bright, acid green hair of my old beloved. He holds a knife to Bruce's throat, and grins at me in the dim light cast by the bedside lamp.

"How's it hangin', Harles?" A cruel giggle escapes him when I visibly shudder. The knife presses closer to Bruce's skin, and small red line appears.

"Stop," I choke, and he only grins wider.

"Now, why would I do that, Harles? This fuck stole you from me, and put me in the slammer! I have every right in the world to kill your new boyfriend." His eyes are wide with malice, and the soulless glint I thought I saw all those months ago brightens in them.

I stare urgently at Bruce, wondering why he doesn't fight back. Bruce is Batman, and has beaten my old puddin' more times than I can count. Why doesn't he do it now?

But the glassy stare returns no look, holds no emotion, and I think I know the answer. The Joker poisoned him somehow. It isn't really his style, but he's angry, and will resort to anything when it comes to his hatred.

So it isn't Bruce he wants. He doesn't care about Bruce at all, so it must just be me he wants. But what does he want with me?

I take a step forward, and the Joker shifts enough that a small amount of blood wells up over the knife and drips over it.

"Uh-uh, sweetheart. Stay right where you are." I do, and he grins. I have to wonder how he even got in, and why Alfred isn't here with a machine gun right now. The manor should be resounding with alarms, and the cops should have been alerted. But there's nothing.

"Why are ya here?" I ask, and am more than a little terrified when I hear my old lilt slipping back into my voice. I worked hard to get rid of that, and now it comes back? Little bitch.

"Why, I'm here for you, Harles! Why else would I come?"

"But _why_ are you here?"

"I already told ya, whore." His eyes turn dark, and suddenly his knife is next to _my_ throat. "I'm here for _you._ "

* * *

When I awake, it is slow and it is painful. My eyes are fuzzy, and they don't want to adjust to the dim light in the room. My limbs are heavy, and it is hard to force them to move. I hold my hands in front of my eyes, willing them to adjust. They clear, and my hands drift down to lay by my side again.

My brow furrows, and I try to remember what happened before I fell asleep. I don't know much right now, but I do know that this is no ordinary sleepiness. I feel drugged. My brain is slow, and the rest of my body is reluctant to move.

And suddenly it hits me.

The Joker. He was _here_.

I tear myself from my bed, limbs no longer weighted and mind no longer clouded. Only one thought is in my head, and it takes over my whole being.

 _Harley._

I race down the hall and turn around the single corner that separates our rooms. I crash through the door, not sparing a single thought toward knocking in my panic.

"HARLEY!"

Silence.

Nothing.

The bed is empty, like the rest of the room.

 _No_.

She's gone. He's taken her.

 _No._

Anger fills me, and it is all I can do not to scream my anger and my anguish aloud. Then a coldness fills me. It is dark and it is terrifying, and it is what curbs my anger.

It is the training of Ra's al Ghul that keeps me calm now. Show no emotion, let no emotion cloud your actions. Those are the lessons he pounded into me, again and again.

I am grateful for it now. I have used those lessons in the past, of course, but I have never really needed them until now. I have never felt such pure, unadulterated anger and hatred in my entire life.

I wonder if this is what the Joker feels all the time. Is his worse than even this? How does he survive it?

Don't be stupid. I know how he survives it. By killing and hurting and ruining and burning. He destroys the world because of emotions like this.

I was grateful for these lessons before, but now I'm appreciative of them. If I had succumbed to this hatred all those years ago, I might not be so very different than the Joker. I might have _become_ the Joker.

But I did not. I am stronger than that, and I have something that the Joker does not have, and it is love for the woman he abused and left behind.

I stand, my knees aching from the impact with the floor. I must find Alfred, and I must speak to Ivy. We have to get her back. But I have to find her first.

I have work to do.

* * *

I don't know where I am. Where am I?

I thought I knew all of the Joker's hideouts, but I don't know this one. I guess I didn't know all of his secrets back then, as I thought I did.

It looks like a toy factory, an abandoned one. He's left me in a cell off in the corner of the room, so I can see almost the entire room.

It's big, with long tables down the middle. They are covered with toys, finished, half-way done, and not even begun yet. There is something like a skylight in the ceiling, but I can't see much out of it. That's how I know it's still night.

There's no one else in the room, but I can hear plenty of banter from down the hall outside the large double doors. There are dozens of men in this building, and I start to despair. No way in hell I'm gettin' outta this place, and I don't think even the suicide squad could get in here alive, much less get _out_ alive.

I still don't know quite what the Joker wants with me. When we arrived, he threw me into this little cell and left me here, stalking out of the room to go speak with someone. I can hear his voice just outside the door now, and he's angry. There's something he wants, but is not getting. What is it?

I don't know, and there is nothing I can do to escape, so I lean against the uncomfortable bars and close my eyes. I wonder if Bruce will come for me. He will, I decide, but only if he survived whatever drug it was the Joker gave him. Was it meant to kill, or just incapacitate? I don't know the answer to this question either, and it scares me more than the first question did.

I want to go home. I want outta here. But there's nothing I can do, not in my present state. If I wasn't pregnant, I could maybe try to flirt my way out. But the Joker, the entire ride here, kept throwing these disgusted glares at my stomach, so I know that won't work. I have to wonder, though, if he knows the baby is his, or if he just believes I got naughty with Bruce the moment he was hauled off to Arkham.

I'm a little scared to find out the answer.

Movement in my stomach distracts my thoughts. I look down in surprise, placing my hand where the kick had hit me. And there's another. I smile, true happiness filling me for the first time in months. I've felt her kicking before, but never this strong. Is she sensing my distress?

"We'll be okay, baby," I whisper, glancing at the door again. "Bruce'll come for us. You'll see."

The door opens, and I straighten. His acid green eyes focus on my motion immediately and, seeming to make a decision, yells out into the corridor for two men to come into the room. They do, and he points at me.

"Strap her into the table, wouldja fellas? And do be rough."

They nod, grinning like idiots, and approach my cage. I move more quickly than I have in months and am on my feet, backing into the farthest corner of my tiny cell, even though I know it won't do any good.

"Please don't!" I cry, but they don't care. They are _his_ goons, not mine.

The cell is opened, and one comes and grabs my arm. There isn't room for both of the two burly men in here. I try to rip myself out of his grip, but the speed from a moment ago has deserted me.

"Don't _touch_ me!" I shriek, and I feel it. For a moment, I held the strength and posture and voice of the Queen of Gotham, and the goons pause. They glance at each other, then back at the Joker. He stares at them coldly.

"Well?" He prompts. "Are ya gonna listen to some pregnant bint, or me? Ya know, the guy who's your _boss_."

They move again, and the one with a hold on my arm yanks me harshly out of the cell. The other put one big hand on my shoulder, the other quite unashamedly feeling me up. The Joker laughs harshly, and I struggle uselessly against the grip of the two goons.

"Strap her in!" The Joker crows, and I stare in horror at the metal table he gestures to. There are cruel-looking leather straps, various terrifying medical instruments, and a machine I recognize from Arkham.

He's gonna use the electro-shock therapy on me. Again. While I'm pregnant. With his _kid_."

I realize struggling won't do anything, so I drop, using my deadweight as my ally. The pace of the two goons slows, but not by much. They're both two strong men.

They stand me by the side of the metal table, then force me onto it. I kick and punch out at them as hard as I can, but it's not doing any good. At this point, I don't even want to stop them, I'm just trying to slow them down. Perhaps give Bruce time to get here.

But I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that tells me he isn't coming, that the drug the Joker gave him was lethal. I am on my own.

They strap me into the table, and I can't move anymore. I am helpless. The Joker orders the two goons from the room, and approaches me from behind. It occurs to me that he is trying to recreate that moment so many years ago in Arkham when he tortured me. That means the electricity is first, and then the medical tools.

He stalks to my side, staring down at at me with a smile that doesn't match his hateful green eyes.

He doesn't say anything, which is what scares me most of all. His eyes stay on mine, but his hands move over to the electroshock headband and they slide them over my head. He doesn't even bother with a leather belt this time, and I know he wants to cause me pain. More pain than I've ever felt in my life, and that includes biting off my own tongue.

His finger hovers over the button that will start the machine, and the creepy grin on his face widens. "And here...we...go."

He presses the button, and I close my eyes, expecting to feel electricity coursing through my body, killing my baby, but there's nothing. I open my eyes. It seems like, a millisecond before he pressed the button, the electricity powering the building went out.

The room is dark, and I can barely see the Joker's face in the light of the rising sun through the sky light in the ceiling. I feel hope surge through me, and suddenly I know Bruce is alive.

He's come for me, I know he has.

The Joker growls, and I hear the click of the button at least three times before he gives up. He wants to hurt me, but he cannot.

There is a shadow over the sky light for a blip of a moment, and then there is the sound of shattering glass. The long cape helps the Batman glide through the air quicker than I can see, and the Joker shouts. Before he can do anything other than draw his gun, however, Bruce punches him in the face once, knocks the gun from his hand, and kicks the Joker across the room.

He hits the floor, and I don't hear anything. Did Bruce hit him hard enough to knock him out?

"Harley." A whisper so soft I can barely hear it. The headset is removed, and the straps or being undone.

He takes me up in his arms, and I clutch him.

"Did he hurt you at all?" He asks anxiously. "Can you move?"

I laugh, and a little of my anxiety leaves me. "Move? If you want I can fly."

He laughs softly, and he kisses me for the first time in months. Then, as if remembering that I was angry, pulls away. I want to tell him I'm done with being angry, but the Joker has awoken.

He screams angrily, and he fires his gun in our estimated position. But Bruce is more skilled than he when it comes to being in the dark. He guides us masterfully out of the room without making a sound, and it occurs to me too late that there will be guards out here. I open my mouth to tell him, but then I see.

Ivy stands there, and her plants dance around her. The goons lay scattered around on the floor, and leaning against the wall. She smiles when she see us, and walks forward to greet us.

"How're you doin', sweetie?" Ivy asks me.

"I'm okay," I answer honestly. She and Bruce are here, so I'm feelin' all kinds of good.

More shots are fired in the room behind us, and a frustrated, angry yell echos through the building. The Joker is getting closer to the door. Ivy grimaces, and looks at Bruce.

"Shall we go?"

I suppose I should probably tell you guys that I told Ivy Bruce's secret months ago. That would be why they're working together with no questions asked on Ivy's part.

Bruce nods, holds me tighter, and the three of us are out of the building soon enough. It is good to breathe fresh air.

There is the Batmobile, as I so cleverly like to call it, and at a command from Bruce it unlocks itself. He sets me in the seat beside him, and Ivy somehow manages to scrunch herself into the back.

Bruce is beside me, and the car is in motion before I have much time to process what is happening. I open my mouth to speak to him, but he holds up a finger and smiles at me.

Just a moment, he mouths. I nod.

He presses a finger to the side of his cowl.

"Computer," he says in a commanding voice. "Call Rick Flagg."


	9. The Battle of, ah, just Two Armies

**(Quick A/N: For my purposes (later in the chapter), Waller is dead. It's actually been so long since I've seen Suicide Squad, I can't remember what happened to her. And I don't have the wifi access to spend time looking it up. But I'm using a bit of the "Arrow" storyline here, where Waller was shot in the face. It was very satisfying.)**

* * *

 _ **Last chapter...**_

 _There is the Batmobile, as I so cleverly like to call it, and at a command from Bruce it unlocks itself. He sets me in the seat beside him, and Ivy somehow manages to scrunch herself into the back._

 _Bruce is beside me, and the car is in motion before I have much time to process what is happening. I open my mouth to speak to him, but he holds up a finger and smiles at me._

Just a moment _, he mouths. I nod._

 _He presses a finger to the side of his cowl._

" _Computer," he says in a commanding voice. "Call Rick Flagg."_

 _ **A few hours later...**_

 **Harley**

Squeee! I get to see my friends from the prison again! We're almost there, in fact! I can see the gloom that surrounds the prison approaching at a breakneck speed, and instead of the dread I felt the last time I saw this place, I feel excitement! I actually _want_ to see the Suicide Squad!

We approach, and the gates to the courtyard raise up into the fog. Flagg is standing outside the entrance to the main building, waiting for us. I look up and can see Deadshot standing in a window, watching everything that's goin' down carefully. I know he's ready for action should the need arise.

The car stops and Bruce lifts me out and sets me on the ground, immediately walking up to Flagg and sharing information. From the sound of it, the Joker is walking a full-scale army right toward us. I can feel some fear in my heart, but Ivy gently squeezes my arm comfortingly, and I smile back at her. Bruce turns back toward me.

"I'm going to take a look around the prison, see what I can see. Hopefully, I'll be back soon." He touches my arm. "Will you be okay?"

I glance around at my friends, and even Deadshot shoots me a small smile from the window he sits in. I nod. "I'll be alright." _For now_.

He nods, leaning forward and gently kissing my cheek. I hear wolf-whistles and a chorus of teasing "oooohhs" from the soldiers watching, and even Flagg chuckles. I give them all the finger before turning my attention back to Bruce. "What about you?"

A strange smile comes across his normally stoic lower face. "I have a feeling I'll be fine. I'd just like for all of this to just be over."

"I think that's supposed to be my line," I whisper. I can't ignore the troubled look in his eyes. He still thinks I'm angry with him, doesn't he? I open my mouth to speak, to tell him I'm not and that I've forgiven him, but before I can speak he's turning away from me and stalking to the car.

"I'll see you later, Harley. Hopefully when I do, the Joker will no longer be a problem."

I reach forwardward, my hand clutching at his cape. He stops, turns. Ice-blue eyes stare into mine, but I don't look away.

"I forgive you." At first, there's no reaction, and I'm not sure I've said it loud enough, or even that I've said it at all. So I say it again.

"I forgive you. I'm sorry I was so angry with you when I didn't really have a right to be. You were just trying to keep me safe, I unders-"

He kisses me, for real this time. It is somehow gentle and rough at the same time, though I'm not sure how. He makes up for months of aloneness in a few seconds with the sweetest kiss I've ever had. How could it be all those things in one?

He pulls away, and I see that tiny little smile again that bothered me all those months ago. I smile back, then watch as he turns away from me and takes a flying leap into his fancy-ass car. I wonder if he'll come back. I hope he will. I ain't raisin' this kid alone, I _refuse_ to.

Aside from those thoughts, I fear for his safety. The Joker is not one to play around and he never has been. I know Bruce knows this, and yet I can't help but feel icy terror squeeze my heart every time I even think of he and the Joker coming face to face.

The car is soon gone, and I'm left with Ivy, a courtyard full of guards, and my own thoughts to stew in.

Flagg touches my arm gently, and I look at him. He sees the worry in my eyes, and, I think, every other emotion roiling around inside my heart. "He'll be fine," he assures me. "You know as well as I know, maybe even better; the Bat is tough. He won't let anything happen as long he has you to think about."

I nod, trying for a smile. Ivy takes my hand, and Flagg nods toward the building. "We might want to get inside. There's no knowing what might happen, and I like closed in spaces more than I like the free air. Especially in circumstances like these."

I follow my old soldier-buddy through the doors, and a sense of deja vu washes over me. I don't feel the horror and terror that gripped me the first time I stepped inside, probably because I now view this place as safe. This is the place that will protect me from _him._

Ivy and I are led through corridor after corridor, secure door after secure door, down staircase after staircase. We're walking for a solid ten minutes, I think, with frequent breaks. My pregnant self can't really take all this walking, and Flagg just laughs every time I mention it. I think he finds the very of idea of me being a mom freaking hilarious, and I have to admit, I find it kinda funny too.

Never in a million years have I ever thought I would really, actually become a mother. I'd fantasized about it, of course. What girl hasn't? But with the Joker, when I thought I'd actually loved him, those fantasies were always just out of reach. Happy life, happy home, cute baby, husband that wouldn't be an abusive asshole. Life where I wouldn't have my body broken every few days or weeks and be sent back to a mental institution where my abuser would simply continue his treatment, with occasional help from our guards.

And now, those fantasies aren't so far away. My fingers are less than an inch away now, and I can almost feel it. See it, hear it, and as strange as it sounds, taste it. I want that life, only it isn't with the Joker. A life with Bruce is all I can think about now, though there is no way of knowing whether that is actually what I want at this point.

But if the Joker kills Bruce, that dream vanishes like a puff of smoke. I don't know if I can survive the simple destruction of that dream, let alone whatever it is the Joker has planned for me. I hope I won't have to. I hope Bruce will survive, the Joker will be destroyed, and I can just move on already.

That's all the Joker is doing now, I think. Preventing me from moving on with my life he was just a bad phase. Of course, that's not what he is. He is the worst decision I've ever made, and I'll always regret it.

But if the Joker dies, I can move on. I'll look back on the memories of those bad days, but it will no longer be a part of me. It will no longer be a part of the new me. It will be a relief to get rid of this stain that's been haunting me since I joined him all those years ago.

It'll be a relief to let go.

* * *

 **Bruce**

I scan for any sign of danger on the horizon, as well as on the scanner in the car. Supposedly, there's nothing. And according to all the information I have at my disposal, there _is_ nothing. But I can sense it. The bloodlust in the air. The Joker is coming, and no amount of delay will hide that.

He's coming, and the problem is that I don't know when. I can't properly protect her if I don't what's coming or when it's coming.

Oh, Harley. She's been fucked over by this monstrosity that barely has a claim to the word _man_ so many times it's breathtaking. I won't let that happen anymore. I won't let her life be ruined by a madman with nothing to lose, because now I have _everything_ to lose. I didn't before, which was interesting. I've never truly had something to fight _for._ I've wanted the city to be cleansed, yes. I wanted the criminals and the corruption to disappear. It was the whole damned reason I donned the cape and cowl in the first place.

I wanted to avenge my parents, and clean the city they cared so much about. But that's not really a reason to fight. And now I have one. A possibility of a family and a real life, the kind Alfred's been bothering me about getting for years now. I could have all that with Harley, and it's just within reach. I only have to stretch out my hand and take it.

But before I can do that, I have to secure our future. And to do that, I've realized, I'm going to have to take some measures I never would have before. The kind of measures Clark and Diana don't have to worry about taking, because they are expected to take them. They made their debut making those kinds of measures, and don't hesitate to take them. Even Oliver up in Star City used to take those measures, because he knew he have to in order to clean up the city.

The difference with me is, I've never take those measures. I resolved not to, because I foolishly believed that only those with the darkest of hearts would stoop so low as to take someone's life. But obviously, that's not the case. Diana and Clark are pillars of their societies, with hearts purer than the finest snow. Oliver a little less so, admittedly, but he's getting there.

But I understand now. The Joker will never leave Harley alone unless someone puts him out of our misery. The Joker cannot live further than tonight, because otherwise, he will never stop hunting Harley and I.

So tonight, I will kill the Joker.

* * *

 **Harley**

The thought that the only way I'll ever live a peaceful life with Bruce is if the Joker is dead invades my mind, feeding on my fear like a leech. I know this to be true. The only way I can lead a safe life with my kid is if that monster is dead. That isn't what concerns me, though. It's the thought that Bruce is going to have to be the one who does it bothers me more than anything else. Because in all the years I've known him, the Batman has never killed anyone. He injures, he incapacitates, but he has never taken a human life.

And Bruce is going to have to be the one who kills the Joker. No one else can do it, I know. So many have tried, and all of them have failed. Bruce is the only one strong enough. I wish I had the ability to be extremely selfish and demand that Bruce stay by my side and "keep me safe," but I can't do that. I want to, but I can't.

Why is sanity so hard? And painful? I don't remember it being like this the first time around.

Back to our walking... we turn a final corner to find a room at the end of the hall. It has a few guards, some of whom I recognize from my last visit. Flagg nods at them. "These are the guys that'll be protecting you when the Joker and his force come in. I doubt he'll be able to find you all the way down here, but in this case, and every other case relating to the Joker, overkill is necessary."

I snort. "Ain't that the truth?"

I walk into the room, finding a very comfortable looking bed, a few chairs, and many, many books. A sickly-looking plant sits atop the bookcase, and Ivy makes a beeline for it. My espresso machine from the last time I was here sits next to it. Which brings up another thought.

"Where's Waller at?" I turn to look in confusion at Rick Flagg. "I'm a little surprised the Scary Lady's lettin' y'all do this."

He made a face. "About that... Waller's dead."

I blink in shock. He nods. "Yeah. It was a couple weeks ago. Shot in the head up in Star City. From what I hear, it wasn't pretty."

I absorb this for a moment, then a slow smile creeps across my face. I'm allowed a little insanity, alright? Waller wasn't exactly the nicest person to be around.

Flagg looks amused. "Can't say I expected a different response from you. Seemed like Waller was more terrible to you than she was to anyone else."

Like I said. Not the nicest person to be around.

"So if Waller's dead, then who's in charge around here?" Ivy asks, looking up from the little potted plant that sat on top of the book case. The sickly thing had perked up by simply being touched with the tip of Ivy's finger. It had flourished in a few measly minutes, and small white flower was already budding at the top.

Flagg smirks grimly. "That would be me, for the time being. In the event of Waller's death, command was to be temporarily handed down to me. And because of the suddenness of it, it's taking her superiors quite a while to find a permanent replacement."

"Which is good for us!" I say cheerfully, sitting down on the bed to rest my aching, swollen feet. Flagg nods. "If I weren't still in command, you wouldn't be allowed to take sanctuary here." Then he makes a face. "And I have a feeling that not too long after things go down here, I'll be quickly removed from my position, permanent replacement or now."

I frown. "I'm sorry, Flagg."

He shakes his head, hint of a smile in place. "It's fine, Harley. Believe me. If I lose my position because I protected one of my friends, it'll be worth it." He looks me in the eyes seriously. "You're worth it."

And... suddenly it's awkward. Because never in a thousand year had I thought Rick Flagg would ever be actually nice to me. But here we are. He clears his throat, then gestures behind him. "I'd better be going. I've gotta go around and make sure everything's ready."

I nod. He turns and leaves, and I'm left to ponder what he's said. I can't really be this worth it. That Rick Flagg would be willing to sacrifice his job and possibly his life (stupid secret government agencies that want to stay secret) in order to keep me safe just seems weird. And off. But Rick Flagg isn't much of a liar, so I believe him when he says that. I just wish he wouldn't.

And now there's nothing I can do except wait in anxiety while my friends get ready to fight for me.

* * *

 **Bruce**

I'm back at the prison, waiting. Finally, there had been news of many, many people approaching, though from where, I'm not sure. It seemed like the Joker had somehow gotten all of Arkham Asylum to march on Belle Reve for him, though that doesn't seem likely. There were no alarms set off as prisoners escaped, so nothing's officially amiss.

So is the Joker's group of supporters just a lot larger than anyone originally guessed? The question remained. But it doesn't really matter. A large group of angry, heavily-armed psychopaths are on the way to kill/capture Harley Quinn, led by an even angrier, heavily-armed psychopath intent on killing/capturing Harley Quinn.

And they aren't going to get to her. Belle Reve has all of its defenses up and running, and already there are highly-trained soldiers in the field, moving to intercept the Joker's army.

But something doesn't seem right. Something is off. I don't know what, but I know it anyway. Does the Joker really want Harley as bad as this? Is he really willing to assemble an entire army just to get back at Harley for... whatever it was the Joker is really angry at her for?

Apparently he is, but this didn't seem like all the Joker was going to send forth. I have the nasty feeling that the clown has some sort of card up his sleeve. And I'm not all that eager to try and figure out what it is.

I'm brought suddenly out of my thoughts when a voice is heard over Flagg's radio. It's one of the soldiers out in the field.

" _They've stopped, sir."_

Flagg frowns, glancing at me. He answers "Are they doing anything?"

" _No, sir. They're just standing there, watching the prison. It's like they're waiting for something."_

"Do you see the Joker? Repeat, do you see the Joker?"

" _Yes, sir. He's surrounded by men, but we can see 'im. There's no way we're gettin' close, though."_

Flagg nods to himself, mumbling under his breath. It doesn't take a genius to figure that the man's trying to find a reason for the Joker's actions in his head. And I have to admit, the madman's actions don't make much sense to me either. He wants Harley, right? So what's he waiting for...?

Suddenly, there's a beeping coming from the car. I look inside at the radar and see that there's a blinking light approaching our location very quickly.

Oh. So that's what he's waiting for.

"Flagg!" I bark. "There's a missile, incoming."

The man pales, then nods. Quickly he begins relaying instructions into his radio while I try and pinpoint where it will hit. It doesn't seem like it will quite hit the prison, but there's no way to be sure.

I hope it won't.

Most of Flagg's instructions basically translate into "Hold onto your butts," and that's exactly what everyone is doing. The trajectory of the missile, by now visible to everyone, doesn't look right. It really doesn't look like it will hit the prison. After all, the Joker does seem like he wants her alive. And if he wants her alive, then the best course of action really is not to blow up the place where she's staying.

I just hope the Joker's thinking on a level even close to that sane. Probably not, but what can you do?

And so, we all hold on to our butts.

* * *

 **Harley**

I think it's the sudden loud and concussive _boom_ that shakes our little underground sanctuary that sends me into premature labor.

I have a single moment to think, _Hey, that sounds an awful lot like a missile striking the ground!_ before I'm suddenly feeling period pain times a million. And a pain like something is trying to force its way out of my birthing canal, which is something I've never felt before, and by god, I hope I never have to feel again.

I voice my sudden agony to Ivy in an untranslatable scream, who sits beside me cuddling the plant she's become so fond of. Her gaze snaps to me, and she understands before I do what's going on.

She runs to the guards standing outside the door and begins shouting at them to bring her certain supplies, and, if they have them, certain plants. I don't really hear what they say back, or even what Ivy is shouting, because all I can think and feel is _OH SHIT IT'S BABY TIME._

Ivy's beside me again in record time, taking my hand in her own and speaking gently to me between the waves of agony.

"The guard will be back soon, alright honey? Then we can get to work."

I laugh half-hysterically. How does Ivy know what to do? I decide I don't really care, and another scream that I don't even try to hide escapes me.

Yeah, I'm in for a few fun-filled hours.

* * *

 **Bruce**

The battle is relatively short. Only a few hours is good, seeing as how other battles can go on for days or weeks without an end.

There aren't many people on either side fighting, so that probably contributed to the shortness of the fight. But even though it only last a few hours, it was bloody. Everyone who was there believing in the cause they were fighting for, which, like the Civil War, was what made people so casualty-filled.

After the missile hit, the Joker's forces sprang into battle before the dust had even cleared. Flagg's men had been disoriented by the blast, but were quick to recover when they realized the enemy would not give them any time to do so on their own.

And I fought my way through the seemingly endless sea of enemy men, not killing any of them. I just wanted to get this over with so I could get back to Harley. The sooner the better. Find the Joker, kill him. That simple.

Supposedly.

The trouble was finding the clown. You'd think it would be easier. One could hear his insane laughter echoing off the stone walls of the prison, but you couldn't actually _see_ him. Which might have been the point. Keep the Joker shielded until he could find a way to get to Harley.

I'd grappled the top of one of the buildings, using the line to climb my way to the top in need of a break and under the vague idea of searching for acid-green hair from the sky.

And actually, it worked. Through the throng of fighting men, I could see him. The Joker, laughing madly and psychotically, shooting dozens of men at a time, regardless of alignment. Lots of his own men were in the way of the bullets, but the Joker just didn't seem to care.

I'm about to go down to him when another shot rings out, closer to me than I would like, and I stifle a pained yelp as a bullet rips through my body. I'm unprepared, and I fall forward, hitting the ground.

And my misfortune intensifies, because the Joker saw the whole thing. Before I can regain my footing, the Joker is standing above me with a foot in between my shoulder blades.

The fighting is already dying down. The shouts and screams are becoming rarer, and I can see from my vantage point on the ground that most of the dead are the Joker's men. Flagg's soldiers are killing or capturing the rest, and the Joker and I are one of the last few on the battlefield.

"Didn't expect ta see you here, Bat-sy!" he hisses, and I almost wince because of the venom in his voice. How does one survive with that much hatred in their veins. "Wasn't expecting it, but I'll take advantage of it. You won't live to see the sunrise, Batman. Say goodbye."

I can almost feel his gun pointed at my head, and I'm astounded by how powerless I am. Never before has the Joker had me in such a position. There's nothing I can do to escape this one, nothing. I close my eyes, waiting for the bullet. I can see beautiful, pregnant, terrified Harley imprinted on my eyelids, and all I want is to be able to fight back and live for her. But I can't. I'm weak from blood loss and spent energy.

A shot rings out, but I'm not dead. There is an odd sort of motion from the boot on my back before it is removed entirely, and a heavy weight collapses to the ground beside me. Curiosity and adrenaline combine, and I use all the energy I have to sit up and look around.

The Joker is dead beside me, with a bullet in his head. I stare at him in shock, already mentally calculating through sluggish thoughts the trajectory of the bullet. I look around and up, and find myself unsurprised to see the face of Deadshot in a window of the prison. I'd forgotten he was there.

He gives me a small salute, which I return with a nod. He disappears, and I start trying to force myself to my feet. The wound in my side has not slowed its bleeding, and even thinking is becoming increasingly difficult.

A few soldiers under Flagg's command rush over and help me up, almost having to drag me to the medical tent. There, a field-medic quickly stitches me up. Nothing else is done, however, because there are many more wounded out in the courtyard. That, and apparently they have orders to get me in and out of the tent as soon as possible. I don't know why until Flagg is by my side again, half lifting me and dragging me indoors.

"What's going on?" I ask, struggling to stand on my own. I have an image to uphold, damn it.

Flagg doesn't let me, doesn't even glance at me. "Something happened during the battle, and Harley needs you now. We'll get you a transfusion and a proper fix-up later, right now, you're goin' down to Harley."

"What? What happened?"

He answered grimly. "She went into early labor."

* * *

 **Harley**

Ivy says the baby is crowning by the time Bruce makes it down to my little room. I, honestly, have no idea what that means, and I'm not sure I care to know. I'm just relieved Bruce is relatively unharmed and is standing right beside me.

"Only a few minutes now," she says tersely, not glancing at Bruce. Flagg is pale, and he quickly backs out of the room as soon as Bruce is sitting beside me. What's visible of his own face is pale, though it looks to be more blood loss than anything else.

I let out a little screech, and my current train of thought is cut off. OW OW OW is pretty much all I can think. Bruce clenches my hand, though I clench it back tighter. I think I may have broken a bone or two, even through his gloves, but I can't bring myself to feel bad for it quite yet.

I just wanna get this baby outta me as fast as possible. So I push when Ivy says push, I rest when Ivy says rest. I'm still not sure where she's gettin' this stuff, especially seeing as she kinda dislikes the human race. Why would she learn about baby-birthing. The answer is probably me, but we'll ignore that for now in favor of

 _ **OWWWWWWWW**_

The above is an oversimplification of what I'm truly feeling. Though the fact that it's bolded _and_ italicized should tell you something.

I'm gonna, uh, pass over the pov to Bruce now, 'kay?

* * *

 **Bruce**

When the baby is born, there is complete silence for a moment. The baby takes a moment to greedily gulp in its first breath, and Harley stares in shock at the little human she has created. Ivy holds the little bundle proudly while she quickly wipes it off with a damp towel then wraps it in a soft blanket.

She places the bundle in Harley's arms with a smile. "I could yell at the soldiers to make you a cake with some pink M&Ms if ya want."

Just like that, little Lucy Quinzel has entered the world, and our lives are changed forever.

* * *

 **A/N: GUYS**

 **IT'S ALMOST OVER. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT.**

 **We just got the epilogue to go, and then that's it. It'll be over. Over a year of me uploading sporadically while you kind folks wait patiently. Wow.**

 **I really will try to have the new chapter up before New Year's, I promise. But I just don't know if it'll happen. I hope it will!**

 **Happy Holidays to everyone! Consider this my Christmas gift to all you lovely people!**

 **¡Feliz Navidad!**


	10. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

 _ **Last chapter...**_

 _When the baby is born, there is complete silence for a moment. The baby takes a moment to greedily gulp in its first breath, and Harley stares in shock at the little human she has created. Ivy holds the little bundle proudly while she quickly wipes it off with a damp towel then wraps it in a soft blanket._

 _She places the bundle in Harley's arms with a smile. "I could yell at the soldiers to make you a cake with some pink M &Ms if ya want."_

 _Just like that, little Lucy Quinzel has entered the world, and our lives are changed forever._

 _ **Five years later...**_

I awake to a little girl jumping on my bed, shouting unintelligibly, except for the word 'snow'. That one, I can clearly hear. My eyes had opened a moment ago, but now I sit up and give the beauty that is my daughter a stern look.

"Lucy. What've I told ya about jumping on the bed? More specifically, _my_ bed?"

Lucy Quinzel gives me a purely angelic look, like, "I'm not doin' anything wrong, Mama!" She does, however, stop jumping up and down. She settles down beside me, leaning against me, and I wrap my arms around her tiny shoulders. I look down, finding that Bruce has somehow managed to stay asleep during the racket. I kinda envy him, but I'm also content to just talk with my daughter.

She was sayin' something about snow, right? I look out the window, and am almost blinded by the light that reflects off of the white blanket on the ground below. It's too bright to look at, so I don't even try. I glance down at Lucy with a smile.

"It snowed, huh?" She nods happily, humming to herself while playing with her dad's hair. I see the hint of a smile appear on his face, and I know he's awake. Lucy doesn't seem to notice.

"Well," I say, capturing her attention. She looks up at me. "Why don't we go outside later, then?"

A bright smile splits her face, and again she nods. I get out of bed, heading directly for the bathroom. I shut the door, and only a moment later, I hear sudden "BOO!" and a small shriek of joy. Lucy continues to laugh outside in the bedroom, and I smile. I can hear Bruce laughing too.

It was such a relief to me (though not actually a surprise) that Bruce was so willing to take in and treat Lucy like his own. We wouldn't have to go anywhere, or try to make it on our own in a world that probably wanted to kill me because of the Joker's death. My Lucy would be able to grow up in a safe, intelligent, and sane environment. That relief I felt nearly knocked me off my feet the first time it hit me, and sometimes it still does, when I think about the alternate lives Lucy and I could have if the Joker had lived.

She'll never have to think about that, if I have my way. And I fucking will, thank you. Lucy will never know who her biological father is. I have no doubt that when she's older, the news of who exactly her mother is will reach her. I may even tell her myself, but I think I'll cross that bridge when we get to it. But she can believe, for as long as possible, that Bruce Wayne is her father. For all intents and purposes, he is anyway.

My ears perk up at the next shriek of joyful laughter, and I dry my hands off, opening the door to find my beautiful daughter upside down in Bruce's arms while he spins slowly. He's laughing too, tickling Lucy's belly to trigger more giggles, her face turning a light shade of pink.

They see me, and Lucy calls out for me. Bruce grins widely, and not for the first time, I notice the laugh lines that have etched into his previously smooth face. I think he's so much happier than he's ever been before, and I know it's because of us. The feeling is amazing. This feeling that I have a family now is just... wow.

Bruce pulls Lucy up onto his shoulders, and there's mischief in his eyes. "Shall we get Mommy next?" he asks her, and she nods happily, wrapping her little arms around his head and neck. Bruce rushes me, picking me up in a manner similar to how he'd picked up Lucy (I'm not upside down though, haha) and spinning us all around. I let out a small, undignified shriek (let's be honest here, though, I left my dignity behind a _long_ while ago. Lucy holds tightly to her dad, laughing along with her parents.

Before I can even really process what's going on inside me, I feel a huge swell- no, _tsunami_ , of emotion. It hits me like a tidal wave. This happiness, this peace, this tranquility and domestic life that I never thought I'd have. It hits me not for the first time in five years, and it's all I can do to breathe properly.

I'm so glad I've gotten here, even if I can't remember it all, even if a lot of it was beyond painful and some of it's still blocked from my memory. I'm so glad I survived all of that so that I could get here.

And as I watch my beautiful daughter and my love fawn over the snow outside together, I know. It was all worth it.

Every last moment.

* * *

 **A/N: We're done now. What? Like, what? Omg, I actually finished this. After over a year of struggling to get updates out, I finally finished the last chapter.**

 **I think... I think this is the first multi-chapter story that I've completed. And, this is definitely the most popular story I've ever written.**

 **Thank you all for reading, and sticking with me though ridiculous update times! Special thanks to everyone who's ever reviewed, because it meant so much to me that people do actually like my stuff!**

 **Peace!**


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